I was curled up on my bed this afternoon, rereading “A Kick in the Seat of the Pants” (aside: a great book on creativity and ideas) when my mother came into the room, looking for missing (albeit clean) underwear. Clothes tend to get lost in the shuffle a lot in our house.

She looked at the pile of clothes on a monoblock chair, my unmade bed, and the readings I had attempted to stack in a neat pile on another chair beside my pc.

As I said, I was engrossed in the book, so I said “Hi mom” without looking up from what I was reading. Which is why I failed to catch the expression on her face as she looked around my room. But I didn’t miss the all-too familiar tone of voice. Read the rest of this entry »

You guessed it. Another griping session about how my mother doesn’t understand why I read what I read and why I write what I write. Another rant about how writing is a lonely road to travel. Blahblahblahblah. 

I’m giving you two seconds to hit the back button.

One.   

Two.

Still here? Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Read the rest of this entry »

For those who expressed some concern over my sudden and disturbing case of Pollyanna-ism, I am pleased to inform you that the dreaded symptoms have passed. No longer do I grin cheerily at the people I pass by on the street, and no longer do I feel the urge to give total strangers massive bearhugs. (Occasionally, still I smile at stray cats, but I always do that, so that doesn’t really count.) I’ve stopped feeling like a gameshow contestant or a toothpaste model or that other presentor on home shopping channels whose sole job is to exclaim “It can take out ALL of the stains?! That’s INCREDIBLE!” I don’t feel like Phoebe Bouffe, or Dharma, or Vanna White, (Sans processed hair and cocktail dresses). Yup. I’m back to being plain old me. Thankfully, my personality sustained no permanent damage, perhaps due to my sense of irony.

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Thanks to divine intervention, I’m out of my six-month slump. Had to get a great big kick in the ass from God for me to stop being depressed. ) The cure was brutal, but it worked. But I’ll save that story for some other time.

What’s a little disturbing at the moment is the fact that I seem to have shifted—from the Angst-Ridden, Existentialist Would-Be Poet Suffering from a Massive Case of Mental Constipation to Little Miss Sunshine. Oh the horror. 

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I’ve been getting some encouraging feedback about ”For Dui, On Her Birthday.”  At least fifteen people gave the thumbs up. Which is a numerical milestone for me, considering the small (very small) handful of friends who give me their occasional comments and  suggestions on my ”real” poetry.

Now that I think about it, I got more rave reviews from my friends and family over my kiddie poem than over my “real” poetry. 

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It was my niece’s birthday yesterday. Thought it would be fun to write her a silly birthday poem. Kudos to Dr. Seuss, one of my earlier poetic influences. Now that I think about it…does anyone want to commission a birthday poem? Heheheheheheh.
FOR DUI, ON HER BIRTHDAY

Rattle the salad forks! Bang on the gate!
For today is the day that Dui turns eight!
Today is a marvelous day, yessiree!
Today is a day of splendiferous glee!

This spectacular day entitles you to:
The services of Mrs. Amelia Fu
and Mr. Von-Woodle-Von-Strudel-O’Hare
Our two Birthday Specialists, Extraordinare
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I used to be hooked on chat. It started with an archaic program called NTalk (does anyone remember NTalk???) on the old Unix servers at the university. Then I discovered the cutesy ICQ, with that annoying message alert that sounded like a lemming going “uh-oh!”

And then I discovered mIRC.
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Seen on balloons at a funeral: “Condolences! For your loss!”

 NGWE?

She was hunched over on a chair in the dim hallway. Her small frame cast an even smaller shadow on the dusty floor. Her eyes were swollen, her face rigid. It was almost funny how her heart felt numb yet ready to explode at the same time. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve always had an odd habit of waking up at the unholiest of unholy hours. Sometimes it’s because of that weird funk I can’t shake. If I’m lucky, it’s because I have a story brewing.

This particular evening, I have a story in the works. So here I am, in front of the trusty PC, still arm from a long stint of programming. I play my usual ninety-something games of solitaire, just to get warmed up. My little ritual. Read the rest of this entry »