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My poems Patio Gas Can and Since the Day I Was Born will be published in the 10th issue of Breadcrumb Scabs Magazine, one issue after Bryan Borland makes his debut in the same. Why can’t I ever be first? This is just like the time he won the creative writing award in Mrs. Matheny’s class.

I’m activating Bryan’s password-protection strategy on published poems, which is to say Bryan is password-protecting parts of this blog, which is to say even I won’t have access to it.

Make it hurt.

Bryan says it unnerves him when I recite his words back to him repeatedly in conversation.

But make it hurt? It’s what I do best. I want to ask him if he believes in messages sent through time and space. I want to ask him if it’s possible whoever said that phrase to him was actually talking to me. If the sole purpose of his encounter with make it hurt was to transmit a single line of encouragement and reflection to me from the Universe.

Maybe another way of saying, do what you do.

One book leads to another and then you’re nose-deep in Middle Eastern conflict non-fiction. Lone Survivor inspired me to learn more about the Taliban for myself. So, I checked out a book at the library called Taliban: Militant Islam, Oil and Fundamentalism in Central Asia by Ahmed Rashid, who is a Pakistani journalist who has followed the Central Asian region (which loosely includes Iran, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Pakistan, and Afghanistan) for many, many years and has managed to condense his experiences into a succinct summary of the regional difficulties that have given rise to terrorism and the Taliban.

This is an overview of political, economic, and cultural strands that have combined to spawn a new breed of extremism that has infiltrates Central Asia, especially Afghanistan, and beyond. This is not a political finger-pointing book; no side is innocent and no side is responsible for everything that has taken place in the region. Rashid details the emergence of the Taliban, the role of jostling ethnic groups for power, the atrocities committed on virtually every side of the conflict(s), the West’s blind eye (especially when it benefitted the U.S. in their attempts to take shots at Russia and Iran) to the rise of extremism, and the wooing of the Taliban by oil companies.

This is dense reading, readers. One has to concentrate and underline and be able to refer back. There are several handy-dandy appendices, which help readers have the overall timeline, summary of major events, and definitions of unfamiliar words (in the West) for reference. The index is invaluable.  Still, even if I haven’t processed everything (and it would take many, many, many readings and outside research), I am aware that I had NO awareness about Central Asia before. If you’re interesting in learning more about it yourself, give this one a try.

No shit. This is the whole of my love life.


Nerdy military guy (NMG): Wink

ML: wink

ML: where you be?

NMG: I been reading. My life is GREAT!

ML: Oh

(long, long pause as ML contemplates the greatness of NMG’s life)

ML: Whatche reading?

NMG: Reading bout ‘Nam

ML: Sweet. I like death.

NMG: Call me if you get bored.

ML: Okay, I’ll call you soon. BTW, you know my given name isn’t my screen name, “sassyso-and-so,” right? Are you interested in my real name?

NMG: Okay.

Update: NMG sends me the most intimate text I’ve ever gotten…”hi” Like, we’re so close that we don’t need punctuation or more than one-syllable words anymore. LOVE is Good!

Have I told you* lately how much I like excuses? Especially ones involving elderly parents and work? Have I told you how classy it is for you to invite me to hit you up if I get bored at ***-***-**** without your knowing or asking for my name? I suppose I could call myself “you know, that girl.”


If I haven’t told you, it’s because I love you. I love your excuses, your elderly parent, hitting you up at ***-***-****, and your not knowing my name. I love that you are interested in my being an astronaut, but missing the humor in my saying that. You sound sincere. You like history, though, and you read war stories (although for the life of me I do not know what FAC means in reference to Vietnam}. You might be eternally interesting or boring.


Would you leave me to go live in another country without telling me? Would you tell me you have no affection for me? Or would you come up with something truly original, something that causes me pause and grand crying spells that make people uncomfortable (and that Bryan will gracefully explain away: “MedicatedLady crazy” or “She forgot her medicine” or “ML is in her dark place right now”)?


These questions will have to wait as I feel fat. I don’t want to lose you, but I feel that meeting up is eminent or imminent and of course, that is not an option when one is fat. Or maybe I’ll convince myself it is an option as I enjoy self-injurious behavior and your judgment would be no less than what I deserve.


Love always, so long as you make it hurt**,



*You as in the composite of a couple menfolk. You as in plural menfolk. Understand?

**”Make it hurt” is a Bryan-patented phrase that I use daily because it’s a great line. Understand? This post is password-protected but I still encourage you go to for your own enjoyment.

I am consistent.

I at least have that going for me.

I have a thing for buying high heels that are too tall for me.

I have a thing for inappropriateness.

I tell myself that I will wear them in my house to break them in, learn how to walk in them, and firm my ass.

I buy them in unreasonable colors.

I do not have grape anywhere in my wardrobe.

I still felt compelled to buy the beige and grape high heels yesterday.

I noticed too late the right shoe was a size 6.5 and the left was a 6.

I figured this figured.

I don’t know how to add a blog not on wordpress to my blogroll so you will have to bear with me and just click on the link. Funny shit.

It’s not true

what they said


always an option

in all life-threatening and non-life-threatening


Prediction. If I am gazed upon by the sun, I will burn. My skin will peel. Repeat until I get skin cancer and die. That’s failure or success, depending on your life view.

Boy says “hi” to girl. Girl says “hi” back. Boy retreats, so girl (with some chemical confidence) solicits boy (Hey you, where’d you go?). Boy replies his life is “GREAT!!!!” (he does not elaborate) and that he’s “kind of been doing [his] own thing. [He] studies and reads a lot.” Boy asks girl how she is. Girl doesn’t know what to say because she’s not sure why boy responded if he’s trying to tell her he is no longer into dating, girls, or dating this girl. Also, girl is highly suspicious of anyone who says life can be “GREAT!!!!” So girl just emails back and tells him she is an astronaut (boy is in the Air Force so boy should be duly impressed) and out of curiosity, just what is he reading? She also expresses her confusion with his response in a subtle way he will never pick up on. She anticipates waiting a while for a response. If girl is lucky, boy will turn into the jerk of her dreams. Girl thinks she has fallen yet again for a tall man in a pilot suit. Sigh, and a dreamy one at that.

Girl likes the rain. Girl could go for some thunder and salt.

 Girl considers a nap and dreaming of poeticgrin’s home cookin’ she will have tomorrow.

It’s a goddamned shame.

A single drip of pink nail polish wham-bam in the middle of your perfectly manicured nails, painted in a whitish-topcoat.

Because what happens now has everything to do with smearing.

Get the acetone. Get the q-tips. Get the cotton balls. Get what you can.

It won’t matter.

Perfection won’t be perfection any longer.

Vanity will win out, of course, but.

Maybe it’s just as well to leave the pink to fade and blanch.

Maybe it’s just as well to leave it be, let it bond in torturous rapture, until you no longer rebel against the idea.

Pink is all in your head, anyway.

SOB with me

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