Eda's World

Well, we showed up to the airport, and JT had forgotten his passport. We just stared at him with our jaws hanging open. He told us we should have reminded him. Stephen remarked that international travel usually requires a passport. Oy vey! We waited for a friend of his to do a hail mary, and drive JT's passport up on motorcycle

I wrote this in January. I like it but it hasn't been published. Scott told me"Jeez-That's harsh, baby." I said, "Good." The Man Who Hated God Jobe was sitting at a stoplight when he realized why he hated God. He hated God, because when his daughter’s body was racked with pain, as her immune system ate itself, this thing—this “God” huffed the experience like airplane glue in a paper bag. Lily’s suffering was nothing to it. He met a woman at a party who described God as reclining on a dais with a lotus blooming from its navel, dreaming the universe. As Jobe had chewed this over, God became less of a Lewis Carroll-style caterpillar, and more of a drug addict, lying in a pool of its own effluence—tying bits of itself off, to experience pain and emotion, eventually letting the bits return, but only after they had shriveled from separation. He had driven home in a thoughtful mood. When he arrived home, he looted his bookshelves for books on religion, anci...

This was published in Spring of '08 in Mslexia, a UK magazine for women writers. Enjoy:O) Ruth Anne moved to our town when I was in fifth grade. She walked into the middle of our Monday, and our math class. She had a yellow hall pass, and a note from her mother clutched in her hand. We weren’t the friendliest bunch in the best of circumstances, and it had been a dog of a summer that turned into a muggy autumn. We stared at her, sweating sullenly under her gaze. She was a dumpy kid—brown and bland, except for the purple satin gloves she wore. The teacher read the notes, looked her up and down, pausing at the gloves, before glancing at the mother’s note one more time. The teacher introduced her, sat down, and the class droned on. We were out on the playground before anyone said anything about the gloves. We didn’t say it to her. We just mumbled amongst ourselves. Maybe her deadbeat dad set her on fire to punish her cheating mother, maybe she was an orphan scarred by a terri...

I just need time to think, time ponder, time to drink in the world around me. I want to run through daisies and kick their petal in the air. I want to turn somersaults, and for no reason, curl my hair. I feel old and creaky wise, wily, and sneaky crafty like a fox comfortable like old socks I'm a thinker, a dancer a writer and prancer My soul lives in the clouds while my body is in the crowds. I turn and twist to meet the tide I try my best not to run and hide but inside I'm still a child a little lost, and a little wild Hides from monsters under the quilt creeping ghosties that my mind built

Everybody sing it with me, and sway your mugs! "Wriiiiiiiiiiiiiter's BlooooooCK, Yeewwwwwwwwwwww Suck Cock!" I need to get 6 pages out of the bong resined brain of mine. 6 pages about rats no less!! I want to go on too many tangents, I psyche myself by saying that I haven't done enough research on yada yada, I need to look up this or that. Bullshit! I need to write, I know I'll come up with something I do know about. I'm still conflicted about contacting my friend. I'm going to thank her for the return of my things because it would be shitty not to. I can salvage that friendship, but do I want to. I feel emotionally spent these days. I have been feeling my mortality more and more. I feel old, out of date. I lost all this weight and I feel disappointed that this is me still. I knew it would be, but my ass fell, I still have a belly I'm always going to have. My husband loves it. He says its soft and squeezable. He always wants to rub his face on it. It i...

News from the Eda front! Homework has been completed! Yes, folks, you heard me right--the homework has been completed. A day late, but done none the less.Hurrah-bloody hurrah for me. Got a disturbing note in the mail, along with some money, and some clothes I had commissioned in May. It was a plea for friendship from a friend I quit speaking to in mid-September. I feel like a shit not responding to it, but she and her husband have been erratic the past year in their behavior and I just don't feel emotionally safe around them anymore. They were the origin of our new battlecry "Is EVERYBODY on CRACK?!" I've heard so many fucked up stories from friends who are having people go into meltdown and turn into complete douche-bags. So, I can't decide how smart it will be to let that back into my life. She was a big part of my life for three years, but I haven't died of loneliness the past month either. I'm glad I'm not driving to San Pedro 2-3 times a week. I w...

Well, I'd like to do a "strictly ballroom" knee slide across this page to start with, but unfortunately I'm trapped like rat in a ballroom in Van Nuys listening to advice for massage schools. I'm ballsing out an 8 hour day for 6 ceus(continuing education credits) the 11am-12pm class was about state licensing for massage therapists. That's it, from 8:30am-4pm that is the only part of this day having to do with me. I'm just sitting here waiting for the day to end. They can't say shit thought, cause I was here the whooooooooole time, front bloody row. The sad thing is I've followed the whole thing. I can shop online, do homework, email friends, and still ask questions here in real-time. That's how bored I am. I used to do shameful amounts of shopping in World Lit. class at Chapman, and I made an A+. I also used to attend class absolutely shnockered on Reisling and rage at my journalism teacher. The journalism students I hung out with used to emerg...