The number of times I’ve written. Not once! Zilch. Surprised? I know you’re not anything because you have no way of knowing I haven’t. Well, I haven’t. True life. And I am not even surprised myself. Habits take 21 days/times to break. Or so I’ve heard. I hope. If I’m honest, the permanence is fucking killing me.

The Days of Wine and Roses


Today, I am reminded of this poem:

Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam

(The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long – Horace)

THEY are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson

This Makes Sense and Gives Me Some Peace


What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week,
Or sells eternity to get a toy?

William Shakespeare

Life is such a challenge. So many trials and tribulations, and I keep making the same mistakes. I fail. Will I learn? When? What do you think?

You Blew It Out Because You Knew What You Were Doing the Next Day

I believe this. You knew. Actually I knew. I’m not stupid. I’ve looked into your faith trying to understand you. It was a big weekend for you. Twice a year big. All consumingly huge. I almost couldn’t believe it. Maybe you wanted to lay it all out on the table, fall completely out of control, take the biggest risk, be utterly exposed and vulnerable even knowing, or not or not caring,  you would feel horrible, ashamed, probably not so calculated, I will give you that, but you were riding a wave and you didn’t care or you cared only about yourself. Your want. Worry about forgiveness the next day, be truly contrite less than twenty-four hours later. So long as you got what you wanted. At the moment. Yes, that’s it.

I am your equal here.

I am not mean at all. I don’t mean to be. I’m not even really hurt.  It is like with people you knew a long time ago. Like high school friends or your college sweetheart you didn’t marry. Like that. In our mind’s eye, they retain the images, purity, memories be it as a sixteen or twenty-one year old. Whatever. In some ways, you stayed the same person I liked from day one. In other ways you disappointed me and the memory of who I liked to begin with, and maybe I became the same to you. You liked me once. I know. Our friendship lost its way.

I am saying this here because I won’t say it anywhere else. Ever. You are a phantom, vapor, that escaped through the door left cracked. And I’m relieved.

But don’t ever think that I didn’t know the timing was suspicious. I had a feeling in my gut. You let it rip to hit rock bottom knowing…

I have always played into your hand.

The End

[Blogger’s Note: This post, in its entirety, is fiction. Any resemblance to anyone you may know or perceive, is not the case. I made this whole thing up in my mind. Actually, it has the makings of a great short story.]

I Sleepwalk. Do You Remember?

This past weekend we left at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning to drive down to Indianapolis to spectate a major professional golf tournament at a course on which extremely close friends live. Another couple, with whom we are not as close, came to do the same and spend the night as well.

We started making cocktails in the afternoon to sip while following the golfers in the spitting rain. Afternoon vodka with lemonade with a splash of cranberry juice ran right into happy hour, which ran right into dinner with more red wine then a Bailey’s on the rocks (for dessert?) around the fire pit at midnight. Lots of good friends, drinks and laughs.

When everyone diverted to their proper bunking spots (master bedroom on the first floor and the other bedrooms upstairs), we were all intensely tired and heading straight into the feathers. I washed up and started digging for pajamas in the bag I packed for the one day stay. Oops! Not the first time I have forgotten them, but I am usually at a hotel when I do, not in someone’s home. It’s been crazy with moving and traveling out of a suitcase back and forth to the summer spot, etc… My life is not organized at all right now.

Tipsy me thought, “I hate sleeping in a thong. No big deal. We’re all exhausted. I’ll just sneak between the sheets of this (tiny seeming queen sized) bed. Naked. No one will be the wiser and the soft flannel will feel good.”

Wrong. (to the part where no one would notice)

The next thing I remember is crossing the room in the dark. Then opening a door to the light.

As I sleep walk, I typically converse internally.

“Where am I going? What’s out here that I am looking for? Why am I standing in this hall?”

Then, “What the f%$k am I doing here?”

You know the kind of houses that have an open catwalk kind of upstairs hall with railings on both sides? An open, cathedral ceiling foyer with a chandelier and a window above the front door on one side and a living room over the other. That’s the spot. The chandelier was glowing and, yes, I was standing completely naked in the middle of the open hall.

If, indeed, the bathroom was where I was headed, which I am not sure it was, I had not opened the right door. And there I was.

Since I was now up, I figured I should take a potty break before getting back in bed.

The next morning I was telling my friend, who was sleeping down the SAME hall with her husband, what I remembered about my night adventure.

My husband chimed in, “Yeah. I heard the door open and saw you walk out into the hall because the light was on. I figured I would go get you if you got too far or didn’t come back in the next few minutes.”

“Uh, thanks…What if someone was up, and you were taking your sweet time retrieving me? Not sure my nakedness is what anyone would want or expect at 3:00 in the morning.”

The other husband said he would have been okay with it.

The lesson: If you are a confirmed sleepwalker, double check your bag for essentials before you leave the house especially if you are sharing the space with others. I’m sure there are other lessons, as well…

I’ve Been a (Pretty) Good Girl!


To: You

From: Me

Subject: Purity

Haven’t I been good? Yo! It’s getting easier. Not that it is as ever hard to leave you alone. It was just a habit, and then the liking part.



People (you know who) like to slam him and his books. I am liking Purity so very much. I’m so down to watch this, too.

How do you think it will translate from page to screen?

Have a great day! Disregard the chipped nail polish…



Day 5: Email 1- Short Story

To: You

From: Me


Subject: Loved this short story by Rebecca Schiff!!!

Since you turned me onto the genre, I feel forever in your debt ;-)! This one reminds me of…whose? I’ve never read anything by Schiff but long to read her newest collection, The Bed Moved: Stories, which was already on my “to-read” list!

The subject matter of this story calls to mind one of my favorite shows, “Weed”. Like the show, it’s hilarious if you let it be. Great way to begin the lunch hour…with the munchies?

Here. Read this: