Mrs. Dalloway's Coffee Break

  Last night, I had a dream about Markus. This is a very extraordinary happenstance, since I have never before dreamed about him, at all. This isn’t unusual for me in the least. I seldom, if ever, have had any dreams about my boyfriends during the time I was with them. I don’t know what that’s about. No sex dreams, not any kind of dreams, even though with Markus I went through an extraordinarily long period of new relationship lust, and as a unit we have proceeded to go through an even longer tunnel of extremely aggressive fighting. We yell, we throw things, we slam doors. We break things, we know exactly which button to push and hit exactly where it hurts. Once, Markus ripped both his notebook, and his expensive pen, to shreds, because he was just so mad at me. I have slammed a door so vivaciously it almost came off its hinges. I, in a fit of gargantuan rage, upended the kitchen table to make a point, and took devilish delight hearing the roaring crash when it came down on the ...

  As fate would have it, I am currently living the somewhat harsh realism of a cancer patient’s loved one. It has been a very long time since I even considered writing anything here. Since the last time, I have issued eight booklets of erotic short stories, one of which was actually based on a short story I wrote on this site, and a poetry book, all of them in print form only. It felt like the next natural step for me, something I really wanted to do, to be part of the writing community at last, with something tangible. I participated in an art exhibit with the erotica series and wrote a new piece for the event. Anyone can tell you, except huge writers who make a de facto realistic living from their books perhaps, that the come down is steep and plummeting after the show is over. The books aren’t selling too well. The exhibit succeeded in raising interest in my body and image, not in what I was actually trying to do. Which I guess is fair. I have used my image and my body a...