About
I used to be a genius. I used to live a childhood made out of scraps of fabric woven in hell. I used to dream of picket fences and 3.2 children and a husband that went to work at a non-descript office. I envisioned a combo of motherhood and fashion designer (until 1998)/dietitian (until 2002)/psychologist (until 2005)/university teacher (until 2008), but I dropped out of everything except for pregnancy.
Then came Zoë and life got turned on its ass while it simultaneously stalled and ended as I knew it. Postpartum depression, putting it lightly, kicked in, and so did colic. And food allergies. And resentment. And cycling mood swings. So, I continued the diet I went on when I was seven and I became a single parent.
Thirty pounds underweight a happy mother doesn’t make. Apparently, medication and actually feeling real feelings does.
Flash forward three years and I’m mostly a vegan, have some new piercings, try to perfect gluten- and dairy-free recipes and am preparing for a return to school. I’m more granola than frosted corn flakes, and completely hemp-free; a little more folk than rock and roll, but completely lacking country. I run, I dance, I sing; I make loud mistakes, need more timeouts than Zoë, and since I can’t draw the images in my head, I quit picking up pencils.
I yearn for the perfect ass, vegan cheesecake, books, education, soy chai lattes, and a gentle hippy soul to fall in love with, with abs of a god and hair I can weave my fingers through. I seek peace, good karma, the unconventional, poetry in the everyday, uncontrollable laughter and simplicity.
I am a writer.
