I was standing in the bathroom at work this morning looking in the mirror and considering the mysterious red nicks encircling my neck. I would have been more concerned about them but, seriously, nobody in their right mind at my ultra-conservative investment bank would have guessed what He and I were up to last night.… Read More He Took My Breath Away (Warning; Explicit Content)
For me falling in love is like taking that one last tequila shot at 3 AM. All your friends are doing it and it seems like a really good idea at the time but when it’s over you spend the next 12 hours crying and puking and swearing you’ll never do that again.
I want to write gems. Not because they are pretty but they have value. When you look at an emerald that has been unearthed, it just looks like a rock. I don’t need to write fancy cut prose. I just want to make some valuable rocks. – Why I Write
I was perched there on display, kneeling on all fours on the bed, back to the door, with only my best panties on. They were ivory and black lace with sort of a harlequin pattern up the front and sheer black in the back. Sexy without being too skimpy, the ornately crafted front panel was… Read More But Those Were My Best Panties (Warning; Explicit Content)
I remember that time I wrote him a song. I remember doing it while trying to capture those fleeting experiences. I remember the blue of his eyes and the way his laughter made everything wrong fade away. I remember getting drunk and dancing with him on my rooftop in the dead heat of summer. I… Read More I Remember
I had a few other coping skills at the time that were less innocuous than painting. Even though I was on meds, I was not consistently stable. Self-indulgence was not a new concept for me. I self-soothed with things like food, shopping, and sex. That immediate gratification was comforting. It was like the high I… Read More Slippery Rocks
Once I was fired from my job in Raleigh in 2004 and was in the height of mania, I had an unusual reaction. All I wanted to do was paint. It wasn’t merely a therapeutic exercise or escape, it was a visceral need to purge what was crying to get out. I think I completed… Read More Paint the Pain Away