• personal,  Thoughts on...

    Memories Are Made of This

    If touch is my drug, then memories are my kryptonite. I am an overthinker. I have always been an overthinker. As a child, I remember adults telling me, “Don’t think so much!” and wondering how they could ask that of me. I could no more control my thoughts than the weather. They rushed over me in a continuous wave of questions and hypotheticals. Over the years I learned to stem the tide of thoughts when they got too much for me. I learned to put them away. Today, my mind is a hoarder’s attic, stuffed to the brim with ominously unstable stacks of thoughts and emotions and worries and passions…

  • personal

    The To Do List: Part 2

    It’s Friday. Or as some people insist on writing, “Fri-YAY!” I am not feeling ‘yay’ about today. In fact, if today had a sound it would be more of a ‘meh,’ or an ‘argh,’ or even just a heavy, deeply frustrated sigh. ┬áIf the past two weeks were being summarized by an action, it would be that of a dog turning around and around and around in an effort to get comfortable. I am still not comfortable. We’re still not fully unpacked from our move, my days seem to consist of lifting alternating kittens off the table, and my mattress has been trying to stab me in the night with…