1,366 Words. 5 minute Read.

I am the emotional manifestation of stitches barely holding a life together—symmetrical and tidy on the outside, battered and bruised within, like a foot inside a ballet slipper.

332 Words. 1 Minute Read.

When my kids were babies, I played The Masters theme song to put them to sleep, and it worked every time.

1,794 Words. 7 Minute Read.

I’ve spent twenty years building a business whose odds of succeeding were one in a billion.

475 Words. 2 Minute Read.

I want to feel Duane and Dickey’s git-tars glide through my brain like a hawk in a thermal … while booze poisons my bloodstream.

445 Words. 2 Minute Read.

Every artistic cell in my body is suffocating. I’ve deteriorated into a myopic lunatic, an animatronic milquetoast obsessed with work.