On discovering my Indian Kitchen and collecting all the curry powder I can
There has been a growing knot within my stomach as of late. I walk into work from the parking deck, across the little Buckhead village of high rises and always look ahead of me into the mirrors that line my work building. These mirrors are tall and always clean, so I can see what or who is behind me on my soul death march. … Read More Post-Truth; Word of the Year, 2016
‘Don’t cry.. Don’t cry.. Just, keep it together…’
These words, I share with a close friend of mine. We have each sat across from our respective bosses and thought, ‘Don’t Cry’. Of course, in a professional setting, those words should be easily contained and dealt with because people – women in particular- shouldn’t cry in the workplace where emotion is tightly controlled and regulated.
Combing through my GBs of half finished or even a quarter started documents, I have accumulated countless of misfit pieces that would appear to have no meaning and no home. They are samples of what my imagination can do at few and far between times deemed ‘appropriately inspired’. Riddled with incomplete ideas and rhythmically beautiful sentences, they are only delicately crafted scenes. I struggle with picking them back up again, embodying the same attitude and eloquence that is already on the page.