These memories of Mrs. Hess, collected by me as a child and now sifted by my adult self, illustrate the difficulty of being human. We are all endlessly complicated to each other.
I wear a different hat in each one.
for me it felt less like a retreat and more like an assertion
“What are you so afraid of?” he asked with his very insensitive calm and clarity of mind. “I don't know!” I spat back with the righteous indignation of a woman gripped by anxiety. “That's why I'm afraid!!!”
Ever have days when being a SAHM kind of sucks, but you're not sure how to talk about it? Yeah. Me too.
...I’m just happy for the poor thing that she is still living life and growing beauty with all that she is up against.
Every time my family takes a break together, we discover new treasures.
The whole scenario showed how ready to crack I am. All it took was a minor yet official disapproval to make me fall apart.
I remember scratching at a barnacle on a concrete wall. I wanted to hold it, but you can’t get them free from their anchor without crushing them a bit.
I have to get my memories into words, so that I can be with them because I will never again be with him.
I feel like I'm hanging by a thread, a thread made of calendar reminders and the sheer will to survive.
when I turned to my cupboards this morning, the s'more stuff called to me...