In my mind, sex has always been enticing. Even bad sex can be better than none at all, provided that the other party involved doesn’t become a lingering malignancy after all is said and done. It’s not that I don’t believe in commitment; the opposite is true of me, really. I’d prefer to have mind-blowing …
The kitchen is calling me again. Wash me. “I’m too tired right now.” No, you’re just too lazy. “Fine.” I shouldn’t complain. My husband scooped me up, so to speak, from borderline poverty and set me in a world of comparative ease. I was struggling, for sure. I’d made a mess of my life. I’ve …
In 1990, Margaret Atwood wrote a semi-autobiographical piece in response to a letter from the Michigan Quarterly Review. Using the witticisms, ironic humor and autobiographical excerpts which characterize her uniquely poignant style of writing, she introduces a collage of seven definitions for the female form. Rife with feminism and sarcastic metaphor, this jaunt into various …
The coolest spot in the house was the living room floor. Grandmother would wait for me there, with her arm stretched out, for my head to find its usual resting place for our afternoon nap. I would have followed her anywhere. Like a duckling fallen into a city storm drain, she rescued me from the …
The Thinker 