Perforation Problems

My therapist has a little shih tzu. Sometimes he wears little sweaters, festive ones for Halloween and Christmas. He's what my dad would call a "little yip yip dog," with a short poofy tail that stands straight up and an old man dog moustache that takes over most of his face.  Like most reasonable humans, I imagine, I always try to get the dog to sit next to me on the couch and let me pet him while I'm sobbing to my therapist about whatever anxiety has taken me over at the moment—but he's never interested. After a few ear scritches he goes over to stare at his treats on the bookshelf and finally gives up and goes to sleep on the extra chair.  I picked my therapist mostly because she had a dog listed as a team member on her website, actually. It seemed like just as good a reason as any. Choosing a therapist—choosing any doctor, really—might as well be a random stab in the dark.  Reviews, of which there are typically only 4 or 5, are usually only people complaining...

Sometimes both my pregnancies seem like they didn’t happen, Or like something I read in a book. Something that happened to someone else That I experienced only vicariously Not viscerally It’s like I’m wounded and bleeding But I’ve been drugged And I don’t notice the blood pooling beneath me Except maybe a little tingle several layers down Under my skin And sometimes I'm melodramatic like a goth teenager: Nothing matters Nothing good will happen Nothing is worth doing  Nothing can lift me back out of this And into the sun  I’m forever cracked and broken and numb Bleeding Forget about it.  I’m not here for this, these tragedies These heartbreaks—such a cliche word, but Really, it’s like my heart is physically Broken in pieces. My chest hurts— I’m not doing it. Just cut it out.  Isn’t it funny That you can can still laugh While feeling this way? Sometimes I close my eyes and force myself To own it To picture Ru...

I love Tootsie Rolls I can’t get enough of them The way the wrapper twists open To reveal that perfect, chewy log Of chocolate chewiness (The chocolate flavor that, Let’s admit it, Isn’t really chocolate But something else entirely - Chewy chocolate, sugary chocolate, Tootsie Roll chocolate, who even knows?) I hold it between my back teeth Nestled against my cheek And the side of my tongue And I chew until the chocolatenotchocolate Coats my mouth And I have to work to get it off my teeth A tangible, sticky comfort “Those are gross,” Other people tell me But I could eat them over And over, nonstop My grandma used to have a bowl Of Tootsie Rolls at the lakehouse And more in her  Giant, cavernous purse Or in the console of her car, Or in a jar under her television (For my great-grandma it was Hershey kisses Tucked away in the cabinet) When Grandma died I remember Writing thank you cards for funeral  flowers at her k...

There’s a way that doctors tell you bad news Slowly, enunciating each word To make sure there can be no Misunderstanding There’s a moment of silence before A long, interminable moment As they look at you and clear their throats Or move the ultrasound wand Silence, where they can’t quite meet your eyes While your stomach eats itself While the hurt starts to build in your veins You’re being sliced open, slowly and silently The knife cutting through each layer of skin One by one (Later you’ll curl up on your pillow and Say in your head, over and over and over “I just want to die. I just want to die.”) The words they say end up chiseled In your memories Along with their expressions The first couldn’t bring herself to say “You’re going to lose your babies” She just kept telling me What they couldn’t do What was going to go wrong She made me say it for her “So I’m going to lose them?” She was so sad for me So sad before I could even register How sad I shoul...

This morning I woke up to silence And sunlight breaking through the Cracks between the windows and The blinds You and our dog still sleeping I lay there for some reason thinking About the night we got engaged It bothered me that I couldn’t remember Exactly what you said to me I know we had just gotten back to My apartment after carving pumpkins At my mom’s house I know I’d had a pretty strong idea What was coming I remember you on your knees Your voice shaking And me thinking to myself That I’d never actually seen you nervous I remember wrapping my arms around Your neck as you knelt there on the floor Leaning into your lap until you toppled over And saying, “Of course.” Of course I’ll marry you. It was never really a question It just suddenly came to be Even before it was I also remember laying in bed the morning after Listening to you call your parents to tell them the news I was lying on my stomach smiling Into my pillow Somehow hearing you tell th...

All I’ve eaten today is cookies Probably 10 of them And one bagel I’m the picture of health You come home and I pretend To be a sensible person Someone who got work done today We make roasted potatoes And burgers with cheese Later I sit on the couch Reading a poem about a man Riding his bike by a graveyard And imagining the dead Coming along for a ride And I think for a moment About where I’d bury you if You died - God forbid. (I mentally make the sign of the cross, though you’re The one who was raised Catholic) I’d have to take your ashes To our beach in Hawaii, I conclude, though that raises a number of issues Can I take ashes on a plane? How long would I have to wait On the beach, How early would I have To wake up, To be alone to spread your ashes? It doesn’t matter. I’d be a mess then, anyway, and I'd probably never sleep again A shell of myself, a walking mass Of dead carbon Broken, so broken. More broken than I feel now Because as ...

I used to love Thanksgiving I’d be in charge of making the table pretty Of organizing the silverware just so And making place cards with glitter My grandma would bring a pile of store ads And magic markers And after the turkey was put in tupperware The china put back in the cabinet We’d sit on the floor making our wishlists Circling toys and clothes and video games Putting our initials in the pages of the Sears toy catalog While the adults planned their Black Friday schedule Now Grandma’s gone And my mom stresses about food and timing and Whether everyone is happy And Grandpa tries to eat by himself in front of the Football game in the living room My sisters-in-law sit and talk about being pregnant And c-sections, and whether the baby’s eating And the kids run around and scream, Knocking over Lego towers and blasting Paw Patrol “Up-and-down, up-and-down,” the boys say, pulling my shirt. I lift them up and play the fun aunt, whirling around the room Making airpl...

1/20/18 Dear Human That’s Inside Me, I don’t know you well enough yet to give you a nickname. I found out for sure that you exist this morning—or exist as much as a human can when (s)he’s only the size of a poppy seed (that’s what the internet tells me). I’d suspected you might be there for a week or so but wasn’t sure—and even more, I wasn’t sure if I wanted you to be or not. I’d made the decision, decided to see it through—but that doesn’t keep it from being terrifying. You’ll have to forgive me for that. I’m sure it’s not the last time I’ll feel it. This morning I took the test (my friend Brinna told me, “morning pee is the best pee”) and it turned positive almost instantly. I put the cap on the test and left it on the counter for your dad to find—he’s been sick, and I wanted to let him sleep. And I also needed a few minutes to deal with it myself. We’re watching your Aunt Sarah’s dog Sydney this weekend while she’s in Cancun getting over a bad breakup. I took Sydney and Cl...

Growing up, my brothers and I lived in constant trepidation over whether or not our mom was going to flip out about the house being messy. You'd think that would cause us to take some preventative measures, like maybe picking up our shit. Nah. We just kept our eyes open and ears tuned to signs that Mom was about to erupt, and then we'd disappear. I know now that a lot of my mom's anxiety over the house being clean came from her own mother. Grandma Pam cared about appearances, about presentation. Every time my mother left the house as a kid, Grandma told her to "act like a lady." She had the perfect shoes to go with every outfit, with a handbag to match and the appropriate length coat. And the Grandma I knew was always on the move, bustling around the house straightening and organizing and wrapping presents with perfect corners. While we played cards or read on the lounge chairs at the lake she'd be weeding or doing dishes or straightening the placemats we...

I walk into Calvin Fletcher's on a Friday afternoon, pulling off my gloves and blinking as my eyes adjust to the dim light. It's sunny outside today but still cold—a winter fakeout. This winter will never end. I walk inside a few steps and turn in a circle, scoping out the seating. All our preferred spots are taken—in fact, there aren't any empty tables at all. I stand there dumbly for a moment, uncertain where to go and aware that people are looking at me. I head for the sitting area at the back of the room. There's a man sitting in one of the chairs, but the couch is free—and maybe by the time Sarah gets here something will open up, anyway. As I walk over, the man is staring at me in a way that sets off warning bells—as if he's been waiting for me, as if he knows I'm coming that direction and is excited about it. It's too late to change my path—I've already committed. I sit down, take off my coat, and pull out my computer, hoping to inspire a sense...

I first saw it Monday morning, the "me too." "If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote 'Me too.' as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem." I'd been trying to avoid Facebook and Twitter, with limited success. I'd logged myself out on all my devices so that when I went to Facebook out of habit, I'd have to think twice, have to take an extra step. The result was that instead of going to the Facebook app I just went to facebook.com on my phone, which I somehow convinced myself wasn't as bad. "I'm just checking real fast." "I'm waiting in line, I might as well." "I just have to check my clients' business page. I might as well see if I have any notifications while I'm on there." I might as well, I might as well, I might as well. I've been thinking and reading a lot lately about the addictive nature of Facebook and how it nega...

When we were kids, twice a year we'd pile into my mom's mini van and make the trek from Georgia to Indiana: 10 hours to Indianapolis where my dad's parents lived, 11 hours to my mom's parents in Marion, and 12 hours to the lake. At 13 I prided myself on the fact that I could go the entire drive without having to stop to pee. In retrospect that wasn't the healthiest thing, but my mom's need to stop every couple hours grated on me and somehow seemed an indication that she was weak. God, Mom! Develop a stronger bladder!  I'd put up with the visit to my dad's parents, but it was just dues we had to pay before we could get to the lake. There in my grandparents' ranch house with the 70s furniture and seashell themed bathroom, Grandma Drummond would feed us vegetables I wasn't allowed to turn down, while my brothers and I sat, backs straight and on our best behavior, listening to the adults talk. After dinner we'd all adjourn to the living room...