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On Trauma and Triggers: Changing Routes and Running with Mace
In the past two years, I’ve changed my running route four times. Each time was to avoid a memory, and my border collie and I collect those like burrs.
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My Body, My Temple: An Appropriation of Divinity
Full-bearded and husky, my tattoo artist was dripping in ink. What I’d assumed at first glance to be benign lipoma in Pierre’s forearms turned out to be ball bearings, at least three in a dispersed line up each arm, bulging under the skin.
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How a FB Memory Re-Converted Me (to Social Media)
No wonder my mom was worried. Looking at myself from five years ago—rail-thin, smiling fiercely in my birthday purchases—the story starts coming together in my mind. I think I’m ready to tell it.
