Note: That photo up there was taken post-tattoo, post-book, long after the moment below happened. In the following, I was just trying to do and finish the project, feeling like I sucked at everything, trying to do what I said I would do, all amidst the core of being a mother.
This is an excerpt from The Oat Project, from the rock concert chapter. It may or may not make the final version (coming this summer!!!). Enjoy…and now, back to it. It’s like World Wide Wrestling. What is that fake-fighting impulse? Do we all have it in one form or another?
The last week or two, a sort of time warp has wrapped every moment in as intense a grief and dark a depression as just after my mother and sister-in-law died a year and two months ago. It’s as though some parts of my mind and body have moved through
Today, two dear friends of mine met me at a coffeeshop to revive our improv writing group. This is not “improv” like acting but writing. One of us prepares or proposes a prompt, then we write like the Furies for a timed number of minutes, then read aloud what emerged
In the past few months, I’ve been operating more on instinct than plan. Only the most basic physical and emotional needs have driven daily action. My mom died on December 4th, my sister-in-law a week later. Last year and the first months of this one have been soaked in cancer,