I am an educational content writer, cat lover, and Ina Garten enthusiast. My creative non fiction essays have been published on Thought Catalog and Mogul. I am also a novelist and flash fiction writer.
What the Psychic Told Me
I had my tarot cards read by a psychic when I was twenty-five. I wanted to know when I would find my soul mate. A loaded gun of a word if ever there were one. But I fell for the idea that we have one person we are meant to spend the rest of our lives with, and I was hell bent on finding him. Unfortunately, I was terrible at love. When it came to partners, I consistently chose incorrectly and then paid for it later when I had to clean up the mess of a failed relationship. In order to avoid any more emotional disasters, I figured I’d have a psychic tell me what to look for.
The Break Up Playlist
Valentine's Day. If you're single, there is nary a day on the calendar that can make you feel more alone than this stupid holiday. You can make a case for New Years, but that's not what we're doing here. For those fresh out of a relationship, or for those still reeling from the effects of a break-up, Valentine's Day is a romantic sucker punch. I have spent many a Valentine's night eating Domino's, drinking wine, and watching "Bridget Jones's Diary" while rolled up in a blanket burrito avoiding social media until we were safely tucked into February 15. That's all fine and good, but we're better than that. And sometimes we need a reminder.
Learning How to Tell the Truth
Every summer, I start the school year with the same resolution. This is the year I will put my health and wellbeing before the job. This is the year I will prioritize myself over everything. And usually by November, I am crying in my boss’s office, burnt out and exhausted. Year twelve was shaping up to be more of the same. By November 2019, I was overwhelmed by a full schedule of classes I’d never taught before coupled with a pile of grading I never got to the bottom of. I was drowning. Truth be told I’d been drowning for twelve years.
The Debt Collector
I wrote his name in my little black notebook after our first encounter. James Sturgeon. Like the fish. The final name in my list of victims. Names I could call upon at a moment’s notice when I found myself in need, so to speak, which was more often than I cared to admit.