So much has happened since we last chilled. So very very much. And this entire time I’ve been writing to you, in my wee noggin, narrating the world and its unfolding of events to help you understand, to give you a foothold. A better way. So many hard heavy things are dropping like anvils from
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So I was talking with a friend of mine who has some opinions, as it turns out, on men and women and women and men, and how they think. One of these opinions is that men think that women make things more complicated than they need to be. Well, because I like to complicate things,
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Boundaries. I say the word and the emotions spark like those firecrackers bad ass kids set off in the streets after dark when the rest of us are unsuspecting and usually down to one taut nerve. Bang! Haha. Some of us tense and tighten, our hands into fists, our soft places into hard walls. We’re
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I am not in the biz of diagnostics. For top secret reasons I have done a study of modern academic research on whether Narcissistic Personality Disorder is caused by lack of nurturing in childhood, or the alternative, coddling and being encouraged to feel superior —the upshot of that study if you’re interested, is that lack
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Well, I am back in the great province of Alberta, to the house I have called home for nearly two decades, after sleeping on a sofa for coming up on three months. I arrived, bleary eyed and sleep deprived from a very intense health care boot camp to one very ecstatic doggo who communicated to
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So I was discussing with a client a very significant time in his life when some very surreal shit went down. Those kind of freaky experiences that are metaphysical in nature, that Jung refers to as the synchronicity. The meaningful coincidence. Synchronicities speak an emotional spiritual language to us through which we are guided by
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Nice guys finish last. We’ve all heard the oh so sad story. Women want bad boys, we want charisma, we want edgy and thrilling. We want Mickey Rourke, growling up on his bike and throwing us up against the alley wall in the wild rain, making brick wall sex look, well, doable if not natural. We
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I have always had a soft spot for films about escaping to Italy, or somewhere that is pretty much Italy. Under the Tuscan Sun, where she gets dumped by her cheating whore husband and goes on a gay tour her friends pony up then buys a house with the money left from the dream home
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Spotify had a tough morning. She couldn’t read me, and I think she panicked. There was some Nine Inch Nails trailed by a jaunty little ditty by a bare footed songstress running through daffodil fields, or maybe it was alfalfa —and then I was “Just a Girl” and also a crooning Fiona Apple “Shadowboxer”. I
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