personal essay

There isn't a woman on earth that hasn't imagined the shimmering mirage of "The One," but I always felt it was some cruel myth. Until I met *John.

I’m fat and trans and covered in body hair. But I have an abundance of affection beyond even my own comprehension.

"I was so critical of Debra for letting her car wheel get so damaged over time, and yet I could not see how damaged I had become."

And then I see it. My father's girlfriend's vagina. Splayed across a flowered bedspread.

Yesterday, it happened again: While attempting to make breakfast, the kitchen transformed into a stage for my latest unintended slapstick routine.

They're all gone from this world. No graduations. No weddings. No questions to be answered.

My father, a wonderful wayward writer, has never been what you'd call a provider.