Sometimes I do not know my face.   I see a woman mistaken for an abuela on the Stockton to Sacramento Greyhound.  Or, my mother if she never dyed her hair.  Maybe I am the sepia photo of my great grandmother when she was a … Continue reading Unknowing

Dear World,

I am trying to give up anger for Lent. Outrage certainly has its use, but for months–day in, day out–this stuff is whittling me to a nub. If I could smoke pot for forty days, I would. Surely this would help. I vomited on November … Continue reading Dear World,