Your Loss

Laughter echoed through the house, but Elizabeth was weeping.

She clutched a teddy bear to her chest and watched her husband spin their daughter. Around and around they twirled in the living room.

She turned up the volume until the sound of their laughter muffled her sobs.

For hours she watched them. They played catch in the backyard. They danced at Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary party. Her daughter picked dandelions during her soccer game.

When she had watched every home movie, she left the house.

She walked to her neighbor’s door and knocked.

“Elizabeth!”, Richard exclaimed, and the his mouth sort of hung open as he searched for a second word to say.

“Hello, Richard.” Elizabeth smiled.

“Hi!” he chuckled and stumbled out of the house. He shook his head for a moment while staring at the ground. “I am so sorry about what happened to…to Henry and…and Jess.”

“Why, what happened to them?” Elizabeth asked.

Richard’s mouth fell open. “Uhhh I ah…” he stammered.

“Anyway,” Elizabeth continued,” since Henry doesn’t seem like he’s going to mow the lawn, I’ve decided I should do it.”


“Yeah, I mean you can see it is really getting out of hand. It’s been two weeks now and I’m just going to have to take care of it myself.” Elizabeth smiled.

Richard stared at her for a moment then he looked at the teddy bear in her arms and said, “You know I would be happy to take care of that for you-”

“Don’t be silly,” Elizabeth interrupted” I just came by because I need gas for the lawn mower and I was hoping you had some to spare.”

“Well yes, I do.”

Elizabeth followed Richard to the garage. “Here it is, just take the whole canister.”

“Thank you, Richard.” Elizabeth smiled and took the gasoline.

“I really like that teddy bear,” Richard said.

“Oh,” Elizabeth’s knuckles turned white as she clutched the bear tighter.

“Have…have you thought about what you’re going to do with…with Jessica’s toys?” Richard stared carefully at the cracks in the floor. “I ask because my daughter, Becca, she loves teddy bears and she would take great care of anything you think you…you don’t want around.”

Elizabeth looked through Richard. She listened to the breath come in and out of her body.

“I just thought,” Richard continued, “it might be painful…to have some of that stuff around.”

“No, it isn’t. Car accidents are painful. I was in an awful one last week, I have the worst whip-lash.”

Richard walked  past Elizabeth. “I will pray for you,” he said quietly as he left the garage.

“Oh, don’t bother!” she called after him, “pray for the poor man and little girl that didn’t make it!”

Elizabeth dropped the teddy bear.


Am I readable?

“You are the most normal person I have seen all day!” said my optometrist. “You aren’t someone I’d expect to see on Jerry Springer,” he added.

I thanked him for what I believe was a compliment, but honestly it made me feel sad. I almost said, “Yeah, I’m boring. I have been compared to lime jello.”

It’s true, I am normal (if normal people have virtually no friends and spend all of their time with their family and pets) and normal is boring.

If I were to write an autobiography or memoirs, the only person who’d read it is my mom. And she’d just lay a super heavy guilt trip on me for anything negative that I wrote, “I’m sorry you didn’t have many friends when you were a kid, but you never wanted to leave the house! Remember I had to bribe you to go to your soccer games? I wonder what else I could have done…”

I guess it’s good to have a snooze worthy life story, right? I’m lucky I didn’t have to overcome extreme poverty or a drug addiction. My parents love me and never locked me in a closet. I have had a very GOOD, NORMAL, and BORING life.

Conflict sells, but so does humor and sex. I could write about how hilariously awkward and pathetically bad I am in bed! I am sure people would love to read about that. I really can’t though, because I am awesome in bed! Or because every time I have tried to write about anything a little naughty it ends up being really lame. I suppose research and exposure to dirty magazines might help.

Maybe I can learn to be goofy. I could get into shenanigans with my cats…

Anyways, I hate feeling boring. It makes me feel like I have no personality, no depth, no issues. Or like I am just a mindless drone.

All of my friends (just too many to even name) were always so different from me. They were outgoing and often a little obnoxious. Actually very obnoxious. I couldn’t really be friends with a quiet person. Which makes me realize that I would never have been friends with me. And that is a shame because I am a DAMN GOOD LISTENER!!!

I am getting to the point in my life where I have to start finally appreciating the good qualities that I have. I am a mom now, and I think modeling good self-esteem is an important thing for parents to do. So I am going to try really hard to gulp love myself. And why shouldn’t I? Lime jello is pretty good…


You know how you hate the way your voice sounds when you hear it on a recording? That is how I feel about my writing.

Things sound pretty good in my head, but once I write everything out…it sounds awful. Awful in a cover my ears and cringe kind of way. And it isn’t just because I am hearing my voice when I read it. My internal voice is rather soothing.

Is it my overwhelming self-doubt that makes my own writing sound so terrible? Is it that I am so introverted that expressing my thoughts and feelings will always feel like a horrible mistake to me?

The only person I know who reads my writing is my husband. There are a few reasons I subject him to this torture. One is that I am compulsively open with him, I bare my soul to him on the regular. Another is that I need to hear him say something positive and encouraging because he honestly does give me hope. I think I also share my writing with him because a big part of me wants to be heard by the masses, but he is the only person I am brave enough to be vulnerable with.

I once had a short story published in a little magazine (which does not pay its freelance writers). My husband ordered several copies of the issue (so different family members could have a keepsake) and actually framed my story! It was very sweet and supportive, and I tore him a new one when I found out. I have never shown anyone else the magazine, and the frame is still bubble wrapped and hiding in a closet.

One of my goals is to get enough self-confidence to hang that fucking frame up in our home office. It’s a sad little goal, but I hope to reach it soon.


I feel as though, in every stage of my life, I am waiting for the next big change.

When I was single, I was waiting to find someone. When I found someone, I was waiting to be in love. When we were in love, I was waiting to be married, and so forth.

Is it human nature to go through life this way? I don’t want to say that I’m never satisfied, but I always feel like things are going to be better…in the future.

Does this keep me from fully embracing and enjoying the present? And what happens when my life is winding down and all the big stuff is behind me? Will I just be waiting for death? Or am I so set on looking towards the future because I am afraid. Afraid that TODAY is the best it will ever be? But what would be so terrible about that? That today will end, it will be replaced by tomorrow, and I don’t want tomorrow to be worse.

I am obsessed with my life getting consistently better…like I’m an iPod or something.

Can’t I just sit back and ENJOY things! APPRECIATE what I have!!!? No.

Sometimes I do. When I step back and consider my life I am aware of how lucky I am. That is when I am at my happiest.

I just find it hard to be in the moment or appreciative more than .5% of the time.

My blog

Dear Blog,

I have never been a huge fan of blogs or online diary sites or social media. In my experience, people share more than they would in person, as if it matters that people can’t actually see you when you post things on line. The things you put on line don’t just affect your “internet life” they affect your real life. I have certainly put things on line that I now regret, but oh well! Plus, I hate it when you are out with your friends and they are to busy fucking around on their phones to pay attention to you.

So why have I created a blog when I do not like them?

It is simple, I want to be a freelance writer. The experience I get writing in a blog will be valuable to me, and bloggers get freelance writing jobs.

So blog, here I go…

No regards,