Stationary Unicycle

A friend recently asked if I was ever called Maggie or if I'd always been a Margaret. That got me thinking about my name. I hate my name.  Hate it. I have never liked my name. It seems fine to call other people Margaret. It sounds agreeable enough when I say hello to another Margaret. "Hello, Margaret!" I might say. And the name doesn't offend me. It doesn't make me recoil or wretch. It's just a name. And a fine name at that. But it's not for me. I don't feel like a Margaret. It doesn't fit me well.  Hangs off me all funny and weird. Can't ever seem to wear it comfortably. I don't like to be called by name. Frankly, it makes me feel sort of sick.  When I was a chubby 3rd grader I decided I wanted to go by a nickname.   Peggy. I wrote it in my clumsy curly cursive on the front inside cover of my books.   I said it out loud to myself in the mirror. Peggy. Peggy! I liked it. First of all Peg...

Someone please make the stupid stop. I can't even believe the crap that's been in the news lately. This Todd Akin dude and his comments about "legitimate rape" not leading to pregnancy because women physiologically have ways to "deal with that"--- On a good day I have to work hard at being coherent, but when I 'm pissed, like now, and I've been simmering at high heat in pissy with the lid on tight the top blows and I want to lash out and start calling names and throwing punches. Todd Akin is a miserable ass. He's a douche-bag. No, wait, he's not good enough to be a douche bag. I actually can't think of a word that adequately conveys the depth of my disgust for the enormity of his stupidity. This is what we get when we let science go by the wayside, basic science at that. Was Todd excused from health class the day they explained all about the lady parts and the feller parts and the ins and outs of reproduction? Rape i...

There is this popular self published writer who has a writing blog. He has written a couple of e-books about being a writer and recently finished a book of fiction which is available on Amazon. I know because he has mentioned it several times in his blog. In case I somehow missed it the first 15 times he brought it up. He's marketed himself and inspired a lot of people and he's inspired me, I'll admit it. I have to say though the fact that he is a well read blogger and self published author shouldn't make him a guru. He does seem to fashion himself as an expert and that grates on me. But hey, he's doing something right. Basically his good advice is as follows: Find the thing you want to do, say, to be a writer. Label yourself. I'm a writer! Keep writing. Write everyday, put yourself out there were people can see your work, be consistent be prolific be self disciplined. So far so good. Today however, in my inbox there is a  little "this ...

I don't want to think about anything real. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to hear anything, I don't want to read anything, I sure as hell don't want to write anything. I don't want to be a wife or a parent or a daughter. I long for my youth and my single chin and my neck. I really miss  having a neck... you walk around thinking, Hey, I'm ok and then you see pictures of yourself and think, well FUHHHHCK. How the hell did I pick up all these extra chins and where's my neck? My friend Ruth passed away. She recently turned 88. She misplaced a couple of years and maintained she was 86 but no.  I could kick myself for not ever getting around to making poor dear Ruth the popcorn I promised to bring her weeks ago. Isn't that they way  though. Regret. You forgot the lessons you learned before. I forgot I do not have all the time in the world. My time is up. I lied to the kids who also felt guilty for not b...

I don't think I've been on a real vacation since I was a kid. And even that was rare.  My husband and I spent a long weekend away for our honeymoon. A friend got us a night in a bed and breakfast and then we spent 2 days in Portland, Maine. Went to a record shop, ate at a Greek restaurant and went to a book store. Since we've been married we've taken a  few trips to Salt Lake City, Utah to visit my mother in law. That my dears was not a vacation. Unless a week in hell with Satan herself is a vacation. We'd be miserable the moment we got there and about ready to have ourselves volentarily committed when we returned. I am not even exagerating. We have spent a nice few days camping with the kids. That's a vacation. Except we're so friggin poor that we'd worry about having enough gas money to get home, we'd wonder how we were going to pay the entrance fee into the National Park. We'd worry if we'd have enough food for the kids and...