Her spirit was the wrong shape: she never quite managed to squeeze it into the puzzle of her world, where she never belonged–never fit. She looked fine, sure, even pretty in all that diffuse light at royal dances, under fiery…
Blog Archives
Oops, Weekend with… people? Heeeelp
So the last time I went to a swing dance event, it ended with my ex lounging like a lord in the corner of a dance hall with ladies lounging all around him like coily pretties. Like seriously. And me…
A Little Dose [of Prague…]
Relax from the emotional turmoil of this past week with a little dose of Prague. I’m taking you on a visual trip while I traipse through this wondrous city to and from my Saturday meetings every week. Come experience the…
Here I f*cking go again
Here it comes again. The overwhelming stress. The crash in motivation. The inner seething. The jaw gritting to keep from screaming. The self-hatred. The sheer rage at how useless I am. I fricking hate it, but how do you combat…
Love Story of Someone Who Writes Love Stories
Some months ago I was reading an Author Spotlight on Eliza David’s page and it started off with what I thought was a fascinating bio about the author. It said something about her being unlucky in love, a hopeless romantic,…
Pics Taken on a Sleep-Delirious Trip through Prague
This past Thursday evening I took a random six-hour round-trip bus (three hours there, three back) to dance swing for three hours in Brno, Czech Republic. I discovered that, nope, I can’t dance it for sh*t, but I still try!…
A Tooth in a Jar
There’s this guy in my apartment building – a young guy – who’s missing one of his front teeth. Maybe from a fight. Maybe from a bad diet, who knows. I’ve met him a couple times on the stairs. Today…
Get Out of My Mind
I want it out of my mind. The crazy. The crap thinking that makes me step over cracks five times, or two times, or ten times two times while I have to think of precisely the right thing or else…
The Pain Comes Back
The pain comes back sometimes, of losing him. The soft lamplight will hit the bed sheets in a certain way and he’ll be there again, sitting against the wall and softly strumming his butter-yellow guitar, his dark hair brushing his…
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Sonya Lano 