To The Women Who Have Seen My Scars And Still Called Me Beautiful

Normally, I'd have resented that kind of wholesome, healthy, glowy perfection. But I couldn't.  Her entrance had a very "North Witch" effect on me. She was stunning in a lulling way. Beautiful inside and out. Instead of resenting her, I trusted her.  She was professional, greeting me like an adult, instead of in a condescending manner like so many healthcare professionals were prone to do. 

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New Year, Old Alter Ego

She doesn't need to work up the courage to get a blue dyed bob she just goes and does it. Not electric blue, she’s not rock and roll enough, she’s more indie rock. So it’s a faded blue, like an ombre grey blue. Either that or dusty rose tinted hair. Because she’s vintage. A little 60’s Twiggy, a little roaring 20’s, a little vintage steampunk, a little rococo.

That Time I Peed On A Very Open Highway Six

I was under some sort of delusion wherein I was convinced that the if I should have the urge to pee I could overcome with “Mind over Matter.” Think dry thoughts. Think dry thoughts. Think walking across the Saharah. Think parched lips. Think fast days and dust balls. Inevitably, the act of trying to concentrate on “dry things” only caused my brain to swerve and imagine fresh water falls and running taps. A crushing sensation came upon my bladder swiftly, an irrepressible force.