#3

the great thing about baking-my favourite thing about baking-is the precision… if you’re not precise you will fail. the bread will not rise. but it’s ok, the next time you will watch your yeast, measure it properly and ensure the exact yeast to flour ratio. innovation in baking is about decorating but the foundations are always the same: 3 eggs, 2 cups of all purpose or unbleached or whole wheat or whatever you need flour, 2 tbsp of butter and 1/3 of a cup of brown sugar. shortbread has more butter but it’s always the same. Even your grandmother’s recipe was someone’s before that.

but people aren’t like that. there are no simple proportions and no easy rules. if the bread won’t rise it’s not always so easy to see where you went wrong. measure all you like and you still might make a mistake.

truck driving is the same. there’s a comfort in speed limits.

(A PLAY) #12

1. Confused…

2. Confused?

1. Surprised?

2. Likely. You didn’t know?

1. No. They say you can tell. That we, that women…can tell.

2. Maternal Pathology. Yes.

1. I couldn’t. I felt fine. The same.

2. It was likely early on.

1. Likely, yes.

2. And when was your last sexual encounter?

1. 4 hours ago.

2. 4 hours?

1. Yes.

2. Oh.

1. You were yesterday. There have been a few since.

2. A few?

1. 5 or 6 maybe.

2. Oh.

2. Well, Elizabeth, you’ve certainly had a miscarriage.

1. Oh. Well…ok.

2. Ok?

1. Just… I’m surprised Jeffrey. One doesn’t really expect to reach a hand down between one’s thighs and feel a gush of blood.

3. No? What does one expect to feel?

#6

this feeling of rage is staggering but the sadness-the sadness is what turns the stagger into skinned knees and mascara stained cheeks; the sadness is what makes the blackness feel like there is no soap in the world to cleanse you; the sadness is what brought you there with a knife.

i could cut out your heart, you cry. you weep. you wail.

but instead the sadness lets you kiss him one more time and the rage lets you fuck him and the total desolation is what lets you let him leave the next morning. you’re in knee socks and a green towel and he is pretending to want to write.

i’ll write, he says, real letters-with my hand.

ok, you nod.

he leaves and it’s the loss that presses you down into the sheets for days.

(NSFW) #13

“text me as leave your house,” i said, “i have a surprise for you.”

he texted.

“come in through the patio, there is a key under the mat”

he did.

the house was quiet and still. the cat was sleeping on the couch and made no movement as he entered. i held my breath and heard him call my name through the darkness. i didn’t reply. i waited for a moment and he found me as i knew he would. there i was, blindfolded, fully clothed and tied to the bed. later he’d ask me how i’d managed to tie myself down but it didn’t matter in the moment-in the moment all he noticed were the shiny silver scissors perched on my stomach waiting for him to choose what to cut first.

#14

the dog never stopped barking. ever. like, ever. i don’t know why. i never could figure out what prompted him to bark so much. i wanted to punch the dog. clearly, i mean obviously, i wouldn’t PUNCH a dog but i need sleep. i needed to sleep. i mean, we all need sleep, right? so i tried ear plugs and sleeping pills and blah blah but mostly the dog just barked. seriously, it like, NEVER, slept.

anyways, the dog barked and then i got a boyfriend who snored a lot and i did punch him because, well, he isn’t an animal. my mom, she’s funny, and she always said “what an animal!” about him but that was a metaphor or whatever. well, not really because humans are literally animals but my boyfriend, well, my exboyfriend, he wasn’t an “animal” like a puppy so i could punch him for like, snoring, ALL THE TIME. and so i did. hard.