Embarrassment
How Covid-19 Turned Me into a Writer
I had better be careful about this one… When the World Health Organization (WHO) announced that Covid-19 was officially a pandemic, I began another set of journals. This was a habit that I had given up for many years after returning from overseas and realizing that my life was becoming quite repetitive with work, bills and the usual dramas. The onset of Covid was a very unusual drama that kept me guessing as to how long it would last (I even discussed the rising number of cases in China in one of my classes while I could still go in and teach). But then there was the official notice that this was real; this was very serious. Everything was about to change.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Confessions
The Photo
Hi there, I don't know what led you here, but thanks for reading. PROM I still remember the first interaction we had with each other. I was talking with the school counselor about my future and was saved by the bell. When I was leaving the school building, that's when you blatantly asked me "Do you have a ride for prom?". It caught me off guard, which is a recurring theme in our friendship. I barely even knew who you were at the time. My response to you was yes and the next thing I know we're with both of our dates cramped into my dad's SUV. Prom night was supposed to be the night of our lives, yeah that was bullshit.
By C Z4 years ago in Confessions
If You Can Have Another Drink, You Can Write Another Paragraph
UPDATE: 7/12/22 - This story has sat in my drafts for a good while, and I had completely forgotten about its existence. I hardly remember writing it, but it definitely spoke to me. Since I initially wrote this piece, I am in a much better place, and it's nice to have this as a reminder of how far I've come, even though it may at times seem as though I haven't made much progress at all.
By BrettNotGreg4 years ago in Confessions
You’ll never be able to wear a dress!. Top Story - July 2022.
When I was a little girl I hurt my knees a lot. Isn’t that normal? For kids to play and get hurt? There was this older girl, a neighbor, she saw me with crusts on my knee skin and she told me to stop getting hurt so much, otherwise I won’t be able to wear a short skirt when I was older.
By Estera Lupu4 years ago in Confessions
From self-pity to Emily Dickinson
Complaining is useless, it is more useful to analyze the reasons for the failures. I hate to say it, but, in the end, it’s always all a question of social anxiety. We should go, say hello, be in the front row at conferences, maybe present an essay in person. Forget about it! I would risk dying. Everyone says you have to show up, call the newsrooms, make real friends with those in the trade. I was under the illusion that in the age of litweb it was possible to ignore physical contact but this is not the case. If they don’t see you, they forget about you and, if you write to urge, you become a nuisance, so it’s better to keep quiet, always and in any case, also because, when they don’t answer, you feel humiliated and stupid. The pounding advertising, the billboards, the shouts, the “buy my book, pay for it by credit card”, the photos of the book in different ways and positions, are not for me or for you, I know, you would like that people understood for themselves the value of your work. A utopia.
By Patrizia Poli4 years ago in Confessions
Cross-Dressing For Country
"Alright troops, before I begin, does anybody have any acting experience?" This seemingly innocuous question, to me, would soon become as consequential as "Do you take this woman to be your wife?", or "Do you understand these rights as they've been read to you?". The year is 2011. I am a 23 year old, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Infantryman private. I had recently completed a full 3 year contract with the army. I immediately re-upped for a second round, as I hadn't had a chance to go to war yet, which should say everything you need to know about my intelligence at that age (or lack there-of). The truth is, when you're not overseas trying to kill anyone that doesn't look like you, the army is actually pretty boring, and your daily life is transformed into a celestial battle to stave of alcoholism and debauchery. A group of us had been "hand picked" to represent our regiment at an upcoming festival called the Royal Nova Scotia International Tattoo. In civilian terms, it's a celebration of foreign and domestic military skills on display. In army-speak, it's a 3 week booze fest in an ACTUAL city, complete with College girls to chase and a per diem to waste. Our mission, with no choice not to accept it, was to participate in said Tattoo, and perform what was called an "unarmed combat display", among other things. On paper, it looked brilliant. We were to rappel down from the roof, at a break-neck height into the middle of the convention centre, and simply kick each other's asses for a couple of minutes. For lack of a better term, this was a slam dunk, a good go, an infanteer's wet dream. Enter Private Jones, stage left.
By Christopher Jones4 years ago in Confessions
Accept, Limit, Concentrate
Accept yourself, nothing and no one will make you change. You are avoidant, you suffer from social phobia and this will accompany you throughout your life, therefore, the sooner you make up your mind and act accordingly, not opposing what happens to you but waiting for the crisis to pass and bypassing obstacles, the better. Avoid blaming yourself: you can’t do anything about it and, in any case, you don’t hurt anyone.
By Patrizia Poli4 years ago in Confessions
A PIECE OF MY MIND
I blew hard, repeatedly gasping for air, each breath mandatorily drawn orally and not through nasal orifices blocked by... what? For nearly an hour to clear my right nasal passage from the obstruction causing me to lose consciousness. It was funny to me that my face had grown to a rubbery texture. Unreal for anyone not in film and theatre. As I gasped and blew I could feel myself slipping into a blackout. Just before falling across one end of my bed, I felt it fall free from one nasal... my right nasal drew a bit of air. Through dimmed eyes, I could see a small clump of blue-grey tissue in my hand. I blacked out.
By CarmenJimersonCross4 years ago in Confessions
The Worst Summer Meal of My Life
It is a splash of bright orange in the middle of the dark summer forest. We have turned the corner of the trail and a beam of sunlight has entered the forest in front of us illuminating an oak stump that is studded with an orange shelf fungus that ladders its way up the wood. This is the mother lode, a chicken-of-the-woods mushroom bigger than any we have ever seen.
By Andrew Gaertner4 years ago in Confessions
