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June 22nd, Growing Older
Years ago, my mom told me that memory is fiction. That each time we remember something, the memory is rewritten. It’s possible that she told me this in self defense, as explanation for her exaggerated stories, which are often altered within the hour of an occurrence. She likes to tell the one about the motel…
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April 5th, Inside and Out
In the fourth grade, Dominick Montalero threw an uneaten chili dog at me. To be fair, “I” might not have been his target, but he lobbed it, hard, over the fence where we played kickball. My best friend Meghan and I had been taunting the boys. We had big, fourth grader crushes on a pair…
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January 24th, Houses and Homes
I’ve lived in seven, or, eight, or nine apartments, houses, abodes, since I left Berkshire Court in Isla Vista (left, then returned to, but I say left for now). I’ll count them, now, on paper, because when I try to count them in my head I start remembering the details of each, I lose track…
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November 18th, Speculations
Today is my mom’s 62nd birthday. That means that 31 years ago, she was pregnant with me. It’s quite possible that 31 years ago, she was swimming in a pool in Danville, the family cat, Cow Kitty, by a window at home. Cow Kitty is the subject of one of my series of security questions,…
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September 30th, California
I say I didn’t plan to come back to California, yet in my own words I find contradictions to this claim. That I cannot explain why I chose to leave, that I planned to come back in two years or five years or ten, and that I refuse to give up my driver’s license in…
Letters From
reflecting on moments of growing up
Letters From 