It was an unorthodox ceremony to be sure, peculiar and solemn as the girl I was then. I loved New Orleans the way you love a person: passionately, even obsessively. I wanted to gather New Orleans into my arms and kiss her.
Once, I spray painted my body gold for a party. With actual spray paint, not body paint. Did I care about chemicals and poison and cancer? No, I did not.
A conspiracy exists and it goes like this: Parties are Fun! I keep falling for it. And then I go to a party
Why do we choose certain kinds of pain over others? Is it because the pain of leaving is uncertain, and the pain of staying is a known variable? Or do we believe in our own endurance, believe it is holy, that it will make us better people. That martyrdom pleases God.
I met Maggie in person twelve years to the day since I’d left Leo. One of us happened to be in the other one’s city, and we arranged to have hipster coffee at a place with corrugated tin on the walls and succulents on the tables. Neither one of us had ever been there; the … Continue reading Letters from Maggie: An Unlikely Correspondence. Part 6
Other women tell me I have a high tolerance for bullshit. I’m not sure if this is good or bad. On one hand, I didn’t do myself any favors by sticking it out with Leo for nine years—unless there’s some super-grande, el-Cosmico design I can't see. I mean, one hopes. And when one hopes, one … Continue reading Letters from Maggie: An Unlikely Correspondence. Part 5
Leo loved pornography. Enjoying it alone was his primary sexual outlet. He wasn’t even particularly secretive about this predilection: like I had been, Maggie was expected to simply accept it.