Monthly Archives: February 2014

For shame.

what happens when I’m too busy to post…sigh.

This is (not) a team effort

(to Eminem’s “The Monster”…a recording may or may not follow :p)

To comfyhobo, or
“she who did not post because busy”,
I would like to say:
For. Shame.

It’s been six short weeks, forty two days–I counted.
Our baby can’t walk yet and already you dropped it.
No question of fame when you can’t get this far.
Do you think it’s a game? ‘cause you’ve set a low bar
for winning, all I need to write is four in a row–
oh wait! I guess I have. How’s that feel? I know,
it’s a blow, it hurts, well maybe think of that next time.
So you don’t have to hear of your shame in my rhymed lines.

To quote Toy Story, cause there’s wisdom in Disney:
“You’re a sad little man, and you have my pity.”
(And by man, I mean woman, but who cares about gender?
The goal in…

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Stress Is The New Black

Thought Catalog

Modern society is a place where stress is in vogue. The frequency with which we drop hints about the trials of everyday life goes largely unnoticed, but it’s a quiet problem reaching epidemic proportions. It has become a reflex to fill the silence with grievances about chores we must do, engagements that we must attend, and responsibilities that we have assumed. And, at this point, the proportion of conversation dominated by complaint has reached unacceptable heights.

Why do we do it? What is it about external pressures that make us want to commiserate endlessly with others? A significant part of the allure lies in the desire to feel as though we’re not alone—as the saying goes, misery loves company. But something more lies under the surface. Our stress levels, in a sense, have assumed the role of a measurable form of importance, a meter-stick against which we can compare our…

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7th Street Cafe

my post this week on (not) a Team Effort!

This is (not) a team effort

I watched her as she built her house and slowly turned it into a home. It was in a quiet café just off of 7th street one Thursday evening, a cold evening. When she came in there were flecks of snow on her jacket hood and her breath was still a little visible as she hunted for a table. A slow smile spread across her face as she spotted a table in the corner by the window, the one across from mine. With a determined look she raced for the table quickly putting her heavy backpack down. It was the metaphorical flag being set, a claim being made. It was her table now. And then the left her belongings to join the line for coffee.

It was cute, how definitively she made her claim. It was also naïve the way she left her things unattended. But I guess that…

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