Mrs. Therapist

I’ll try to remember as much as therapist said. I should’ve probably kept a recorder but I can’t. My batteries are not good, so not good. But anyway a bunch of things said, some tears shed. It’s weird when someone’s understanding you; You expect people to think you’re being overdramatic. And did I keep trying to justify the “absurd” things I was saying by starting with, “Okay, so this will sound overly-dramatic but I…” and continued.

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Fuming Ball of Dope. Part 1

My thick, heavy, lengthy 10 years’ Readers’ Digest compilation, 1979-1989, is problematic to hold up. Yet I finished half of it in three days, that’s how good sh*t is. Writers long before us ….their preciseness- f*cking spectacular!

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Flash Fiction: Age

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”

“Roof! Roof!”

I opened one eye and checked the clock. I slept the whole day. Damn it.

I have to check the mailbox; the mail from my daughter probably didn’t get here. But I have to check in case she remembered her old folks. Kids……they don’t have to do write letters anymore. You just get a text message and…Well…There ain’t no connection between people. A hand-written letter, with ink and not binary codes or whatever sciency things they call it, speaks more than a “Yo, guys, it’s raining” Facebook status. Continue reading