Saying Sorry

I apologize for everything. I apologize when someone bumps into me on the train, and when I don’t live up to my impossibly high standards of myself. I apologize for taking what I feel is too long in the checkout line to find my debit card. I’ve apologized to customer service reps, simply for calling.

I apologize for my feelings A LOT. I apologize because at the core of it, I feel like my existence is somehow a burden even to strangers. I have no idea really why I do this or feel this way. I do know that I’m over it.

I recently confessed to an acquaintance that I had a bit of a crush on him. While they were flattered, it wasn’t reciprocated. The good news about this interaction is that I didn’t beat myself up over it. OK, he’s not into it-that’s fine. I’ll get over it. It’ll be awkward for  maybe a day or two and then it will be like the conversation never happened.  I was hanging out with my roommate when I decided, you know what-maybe I”ll text him just to say I’m sorry.

“Why?” She asked.
“Well he’s not into it and I probably bothered him.” I replied.
“ were honest.”

The thing is, no one should ever have to apologize for how they feel provided it’s authentic.

Part of my personal development has been to stop saying sorry for things that I shouldn’t be sorry for.

I shouldn’t be sorry if someone doesn’t like my short hair or thinks being sensitive is the worst trait someone could have. I’m not sorry that they find my sense of humor to be masculine or if they think yoga is for hippies and bored housewives. I’m definitely not sorry if you hate my Boston Bruins especially in a recently rivaled city.

The next step for me is to not apologize for my feelings.
I’m not sorry for feeling disappointed that my dad won’t commit to a weekend to come visit me or that everything that’s been going on lately has been pretty overwhelming for me. I’m not sorry that I I have a crush on someone who doesn’t like me back. I’m not sorry that I can’t mesh with someone who on paper is perfect for me. I’m not sorry that I find dysfunction without reason to be the most annoying thing on this planet. I’m not sorry that I feel like the fear of falling in love is the biggest cop out ever, or that calling me strong when I’m crying sounds a lot like negating my feelings.

And yes, maybe I need to get better at expressing all this effectively, but I figure writing it out is a good start.



It’s 8:30 in the morning and Lex and I had just dropped her mom off at the airport. I’ve always found it to be really peaceful watching the planes take off and land.

Endless journeys, endless stories, endless roads. I’ve had such tunnel vision lately, and being at O’Hare, even for only a minute or two, opened my world right back up.

Still, as the city grew closer and the airfield grew smaller, I felt this sense of suffocation, as though reality, while currently pleasant, was still far too overwhelming. 

“I need a beer.” I say to Lex.

“I do too.” She replies.

As we come to this conclusion, the clock ticks to 8:45 and Amy Winehouse’s song, “Rehab” comes on the radio. 

We exchange glances, followed by laughter in a slight Beavis and Butthead fashion. We resolve to quest-out for some alcohol, a pursuit which would prove fruitless.

Who’s desperate for a drink this early on a Sunday? A couple of girls that pushed themselves a little too hard in all aspects. 

I fought so hard trying to not be that girl. Still, she’s comfortable. She’s reckless and rigid. Can I be her just for a day, or even for a couple of hours on a Sunday morning, getting brown out drunk, listening to soul, and and talk about nothing at all? If I do it quietly? Can I let my short hair down for a moment? Can I be messy and cry my eyes out for no real reason other than the fact that I haven’t done it in a while? 

When we get back back to our place, Lex and I go to our spots in the kitchen. I make myself a bagel and pour a cup of coffee. Lex curls up with a blanket and turns on Howard Stern. We are back to the lab in our own ways.

Old habits don’t always die hard. A car crash doesn’t always kill them. Sometimes you’re reading the paper and stumble across their obituary. They left no scars or family, reached a ripe old age. Retired. Died quietly in their sleep. You imagine that it must be a relief their lives are over, but are no longer connected to them to feel anything at all.

Wonderfully Crazy People




I am of the firm belief that sometimes you have to do something completely out of your character in order to further understand yourself. While that was not the intention of me purchasing these bright pink sneakers, I feel like I did just that today-level up in my understanding of Jess.

I’ve never been a runner. Granted I tried once or twice but wasn’t able to really get into it. Yoga and biking have more or less been my methods of wellness and exercise. (Biking since forever and yoga in my adult life.) With my yoga instructor flaking out on classes lately, I’ve been in dire need of a workout. I went to TJ Maxx downtown with my friend, Jackie and fell in love with an ugly pair of sketchers. For whatever reason, I got this happy giddy feeling looking down at my feet and seeing a day-glow version of a color I don’t normally wear. When I got home, I changed out of my clothes into a pair of yoga leggings, sports bra, hoodie, beanie, and of course, the neons.I stretched for a couple minutes before leaving my apartment. Then, I was off.

I began a slow jog after crossing the street. I read somewhere that on your first run, you should do a 2:1 ration of running vs walking, just to get your body used to it. I told myself I would slowly jog for two songs on my Ipod, and then walk one, but at the end of my second song I wanted to keep jogging-so I did.

Focusing on my breathing, in through the nose out through the mouth, I was able to keep a steady, comfortable pace. Around the middle of my second mile I grew tired and walked for the duration of one song, before picking up as the last few guitar chords echoed in my ears. I caught myself  in the reflection of a store window as I was passing by and noticed that I wasn’t slowly jogging anymore, I was actually running! This is a HUGE deal for me, as I’ve joked in the past that I only run for the bus, or if I’m being chased. I always admired anyone that would go for a run just because they wanted to, and could never see myself doing such a thing.

But here I was, on a mild, late winter day-running and surprisingly enjoying myself. When I got home, I collapsed on my couch. As exhausted as I was, I felt incredible. I plotted the route that I took and discovered that it was 4.5 miles- 4 of which I ran.My first time going on a run and I ran 4 miles. (I will likely gloat about this forever.)

The best part is, after it all, my mind was completely clear. I’ve retained this state of contentment that I couldn’t even get out of yoga. Two hours later, with my muscles a little achy, I am very much at peace.

As recently as yesterday, I couldn’t help but think runners were wonderfully crazy, feeling like there was no way I could ever just go on a jog, never mind a lengthy one. Today I became one of those wonderfully crazy people. I feel fantastic and can’t wait for my next run.

Curve Up- Divinity

I have several other projects I am committed to, but I’ve fallen in literary love with these women at Carnival in Rio and I am allowing myself to be distracted for the time being.

I’m the product of fierce, funny, and salacious women. Growing up, it was less June Cleaver and more Sophia Loren. I was more Lucille Ball and less Grace Kelly. My paternal grandmother Lena, was considered fat even by her generation’s standards but she always kept that hour glass figure, bright red lipstick, perfect pin curls and mink coat to boot. My women were loud and bursting with color. They could cook but they would kill you at rummy. They could hug you but they’d rather dance. When I see these scantly clad, sparkling women in Rio, with their wide brimmed smiles and untouchable strut, I am reminded that the best parts of a woman are not the quiet parts-they are the daily celebrations of their womanhood. To me, the divine feminine is not docile, she is roaring. She is present and has presence. The divine woman is not the rigid American Dream, she is the devil’s music and a bottle of gin. She is the sailor tattoos and the raspy croon from a record player. She is the blood, the fire, the DNA that does not fear a dark corner or the sound of her own moan.

Her beauty is endless because she creates and defines it on her own terms.

Maybe I had fodder for all those projects after all.






The best text-courtesy of my sister.

Today is the big 2-7 and why I am only a day older in theory, it feels a little weird? With most of my people being thousand miles away, it’s made me a little nostalgic for birthday’s past. For some strange reason, important days like holidays and birthdays always resurface the. ” WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO?!” feeling.

Anyway, while I’m aware I technically already did a birthday post, I’m going to one today in honor of the things I’m grateful for and the things I hope to accomplish. I’m also giving you a few unknown facts about me, because why not? The magic number is of course 27.


Nine Facts You May Not Know About Me

1. I actually really like kids.

2. I recently became afraid of flying. Trying to work on that before my trip back to New England this summer.

3. I love old things- abandoned buildings, old books, history etc.

4. I love sea glass and found jewelry.

5.  I’m not into movies. Sure I’ll watch one if it’s on but I would rather read, write, or do some DIY project.

6. That said, “Mulan” is my favorite Disney movie. “The Shining” is my favorite horror type movie.

7. The only pizza I really enjoy is of the homemade variety.

8. I went to art school my first year of college before transferring and switching my major to English.

9. Even though I’m really open on paper, I’m pretty guarded in real life.  Working on that.
Nine Things I’m Grateful For
1. My niece. Good god, that baby is perfect.

2. The friends I’ve made in Chicago and the friends/ family I’ve kept in touch with back east.

3. Technology for making the first two possible and easier.

3. Key Lime flavored baked goods and sweets.

4. The ocean, for feeling like home always, even though I’m far away.

5. My audacity. Can I say that? I’m grateful that my crazy little road has allowed me to become that person.

6. How quiet and wonderful the first cup of coffee is.

7. The gypsy-ness I inherited from my mother, and the logic and stoicism I inherited from my father.

8.  Poetry, for making me feel human during the times it’s hard too.

9. My ability to express myself through my words and that people have responded to my work thus far.

Nine Goals for my 27th Year

1.  Get my finances in order- once and for all!

2. Get another tattoo.

3. Visit 4 places I’ve never been to.

4. Continue to get published electronically.

5. Get published in print!

6. Continue to develop my wellness through yoga, biking, meditation, and eating right.

7.  Get 5 literary suggestions from friends and read them.

8.  Anchor myself more in this city.

9.  Do some volunteer work somewhere.

How about you guys? What are some facts about you? What are you grateful for? What are your goals?