Two years ago, I wrote about separating the home from hometown. “No contact” had already entered modern parlance. More therapy-speak misappropriated, an oversimplification of a complex problem. It didn’t appear in that article and, looking back, I can see why. I wasn’t quite “over it,” and not as enlightened as

Two contradictory statements can inhabit the same place, even peaceably. Boundaries can be porous. For instance, I love the gift that is my life. My mother should not have had children. Like many transplants, I ran to San Francisco as fast as I could to get far and away from

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Good afternoon, Broke-Asses! So, here’s something personal about me: I’m married. To an awesome guy who loves me and treats me well and encourages me to follow my dreams. His name is Paul. He is British (ie: sexy as fuck) and my very favorite person in the world, besides my