I’ve figured that much out by now. It’s her duty to tell me that I’m making a big mistake regardless of what I’m doing. It’s also her duty to find out what I’m doing so that she can tell me that it’s a big mistake. Sometimes I wonder if that’s fun for her or if she does it because she doesn’t know how else to communicate.
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I said “I know you’re real and I know your phone number
and every time I call I get your voicemail…”
So out it came, jealousy like a toppled-over bitter stew, garnished with leaves of the desperate loneliness of an old man with no girlfriend, somehow propelled at me in accusations of enjoying my time spent away from him, while I sat stiff as a board with my right hand clenched around my purse’s handles. I have a metrocard. I have my father’s railroad ticket. I don’t have to be here. I don’t have to take this…
...read more hereI’ve decided to check myself into an institution. Why? Because apparently it’s crazy to think of oneself as superwoman.
...read more hereI’m always told “he’s three; he’ll grow out of it.” It makes me wonder if my little boy will grow up to be a petty manipulator, a get-over bullshit-artist, a temper-tantrum-throwing spoiled brat of an adult… or if he will really grow out of it as everyone says.
Harlem the Man never grew out of it.
...read more hereHarlem is a place, a man, and a mistake.
Harlem the Mistake was a horrible mistake and an embarrassing one. It’s what happens when you do something truly stupid, with no justification…
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