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i woke up alone, without donuts


A bookish man with an unkempt mop of greying hair sat nervously fumbling through large pieces of parchment. Stepping up into the soft mauve spotlight, staring up nervously, he began to speak.

"Are you reminded of your youth when you have a mouthful of fresh hot french fries? Of lost loves at the taste of a lemon poppyseed cake. Of your drunk aunty the way your tongue rolls around in your mouth over a perfect risotto. How he tasted in the shower that November morning before he left when you crunch into a crumpet laden with butter and honey. Your father who used to embarrass you screaming at waiters in restaurants when you are served a slightly over-toasted sourdough crouton in a caesar salad.

Carbs are........


are killing you softly. Yet, despite this soft death, we cannot help ourselves.

Carbs are love,

our intimacies,

our memories,

Carbs are sex.

All this and more when I cried a small tear this morning when I woke up alone, without donuts."

Finger snaps moved across the room like the wave at a football stadium, the room filling with affirmative murmurs of no longer hushed observations.


over coffee


You’d have caught us stealing thick, bourbon-filled kisses in the kitchen at a dinner party full of house guests. The house decorated from floor to ceiling with a collected Christmas cheer that was legendary. Fearless and beautiful - we were covered in thick syrupy confidence and swagger.

Interrupting him, "Pardon, but are you breaking up with me, in your underwear, over morning coffee?", I didn't honestly expect him to reply, "well, yeah, I guess I am."

I didn't even unpack any of it this year. It was hard enough sorting through them impatiently into our own boxes the previous summer.

I've grown used to that shocked coffee shop welcoming smile that quickly frowns at "well, he and I broke up." It's not like I'm angry. Honestly, I'm not. if anything I'm just disappointed. It had always felt to me that we had enough in each other - that our togetherness was enough. I am a little embarrassed that I was wrong.

I've spent most of the winter just working hard, working out, reading by the fireplace - just trying not to notice the holiday. I'd convinced myself it was better to hibernate.

But then I saw it. In the window of a shop down the street appears the most perfect single glass ornament. The way it shimmers in the light from the street makes it look more like a snowflake than a simple ornament. I look through it with satisfaction as I hang the single ornament up in the window in the front of my apartment.

There would be new traditions, new stories. One day I'd tell the old stories of him and me without it hurting so much. It's perfectly okay that today is not that day.




I know this is your first adventure without me. Kindergarten is a big deal! We both want it to be the bestest thing ever.

So - as a sign of solidarity - I want you to take my favorite toy with you. I take it from room to room with me everywhere I go. I sleep with it at night up against you under the covers. I set it down somedays only to eat kibble, but even then it is right here next to the bowl. We play tug-o-war over it.

Because it's my favorite toy is precisely why I'm bringing it to you now. When you need an extra dose of bravery, or need to know I'm there for you even though I'm here at the house waiting for your return? You can reach in your backpack and give this toy a squeeze. I know doing so always makes me feel better.




"I see lots of challenges for you," said the soothsayer, "Life can only be understood backward; but it must be lived forwards. The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. I see a romantic interest in your life, he's handsome, brunette and likes walks on the beach.... in fact I see a beach, a romantic trip to Puerto Vallarta."

"Okay - Morgan Le Faggot. First off, people read TEA leaves, not dramatically spilled cinnamon sugar cookie extra foam double-shot lattes. Second, you are mixing Eleanor Roosevelt and Søren Kierkegaard; finally, Puerto has been booked for months so it's hardly spontaneous."

"I didn't say my magic was high quality - I just said that I'm magical. so different," he said, excitedly looking up, "....and look - more proof - that cute tattooey muscley ginger beardy barista is coming to clean up this mess and flex for us. So I think that's a win-win."



biker insist on remaining a mystery. We spent much of the last year with a brave face. I can't live that dream any longer. You think you can bluff your way through life, you need to learn to lie better. The truth you are avoiding is written on your face. It's like an honest, uncomplicated romance is too easy for you like you consider it emotional laziness. You write sonnets searching for it. "We’re livin’ in the same world under the same pale moon, together." Beauty apparently without substance. I fell in love that humid Saturday afternoon many months ago. The crazy searing kind of love that was setting our world on fire. It's hard to walk away from, but by the time you read this, it will finally be over. You claim to love - but it strikes me you've searched the world to find something, you know nothing of...