she’s a girl with glasses


I’m a writer. That’s how this starts, right? I’m a writer and have always called myself that, have never had the lack of confidence in that moniker. I’m a writer and have been one since I was young. Granted, few people haven’t written this or that since the time they could read, but since I tried my hand at my mother’s old typewriter, I’ve known that, out of all the fantastical things I could imagine myself to be, I was a writer. I might not have ever made it to artist or actress, two of my ambitions as a child and teenager. I never took up guitar or learned to sing, nor did I ever have the capability to remember scores of information, as was required when I thought I might be an art historian. No, I’ve always been a writer, always had the compulsion to put words on a page, always had a pile a notebooks filled with my scrawl, had a stack of diskettes (back in the old days) containing scores of documents, always had bits of paper with notes and phrases, snatches of poems or random thoughts, tucked into books or in my pocket. I’m a junkie, and always have been.

What else? I’m a mother, of two: K is six and M is four. I’m a wife, married for 9 years to A, a nurse. I’m technically unemployed, by traditional standards, though I consider myself plenty busy. I’m a dreamer, a bit OCD, certainly dramatic, and am prone to both bouts of flailing fangirl moments and stretches of helpless, hopeless depression. I’m an addict in the most vague sense: my vices are Diet Pepsi, guitar music, things that are pink and/or shiny. I am a rotten housekeeper while I arrange sections of my life and possessions with utmost care. I am extraordinarily shy but have a mouth that gets me in trouble, making the internet both the best and the worst place for me. I have a sarcastic and oftentimes obscene and offensive sense of humor. I’m not safe and I don’t want to be. I also would like to learn to knit.

I turned thirty in July of 2009 and would like to believe I’ve spent those first three decades warming up to something more. We’ll see.


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