I could not publish until Anya was gone from fear of upsetting my daughter. We put Anya to sleep Aug. 29, very close to what would hvave been her 19th birthday. 676 more words
Tags » The Narrative
I live in an imaginary city. Its borders on one side are indistinct, the gradual erosion from solid land through marsh to water. These boundaries shift daily with the tide, and monthly with the moon, and every day grow a little closer, the city a little smaller. 1,381 more words
The first thing to learn, according to my psychological assessments professor, is to never assume you know it all.
“It’s a myth!” she said emphatically, brandishing her hand toward her PowerPoint slide of a blown-up yellow emoticon with lips turned downwards. 716 more words