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Pantsless Weirdo


Unfocused Essays from My Basement

The Twelfth

Mom, I’ve always thought that the “f” in “twelfth” was unnecessary. We don’t use an “f” in any of the other spellings, like tenth, eleventh, thirteenth, or thirtieth. I remember when I was little, the way you would lament the complexities of the English language. “Shouldn’t we say you put your bewt on your fewt …

Sixty-third

Dear Mama, Happy birthday. You would have been 63 today. You would have hated being in your 60s, I’m sure. Still, I think you would have aged well given the chance. I hadn’t realized how little I have written here because I have written here, I just haven’t published. This blog has 85 published posts, …

Hard to Love

The day after Christmas, we piled the dog, the kid, and many of our earthly treasures into my 12-year-old Subaru and headed up to Matt’s parents’ house to celebrate the holiday with his family. It was a tight fit. Getting out of the house was, as always, fraught with anxiety for me. We were staying …

Toxic Smoke Meltdown

Some days, being an adult is near impossible. Yesterday was one of those days. I am naturally more introverted than extroverted, which means that in order to replenish my energy I need to be away from crowds, people, noise. Truthfully, I need to be at home. I can recharge away from home (in a hotel room while …

Uncle Tom & Aunt Cathie

Spike. Spike. Spike. I love you. I love you. Spike, I love you. My Uncle Tom spoke the universal words of endearment quickly at first, then more slowly, enunciating each word, his mouth moving methodically beneath the mustache he had worn since before I was born. I… love… you. He was perched on the edge …

Six Long Months

We knew January 12th was going to gut us no matter what. Six months is a significant amount of time for your mother to be dead. Any amount of time is significant when you’re talking about your mother being dead, really, but six months has a certain something about it. That’s half a year. It’s a …