It’s been a while, and a lot has happened. I’ve decided that sooner or later, my life is going to end; in the sense that the next stage of my life has already begun. No longer will I be just a wife, but a mother; no longer will I tolerate the inconvenient cries of the pestering savages as I call them; and no longer will my days be consumed by endless hours of torturing studies…I shall be free…free to wallow between days, but mostly, free to be a...bitch! Yes, I said it! I want to be a full fierce B-I-T-C-H! How do you like me now savages!

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Disclaimer: The following is a fictional literary composure of board room meetings. Due to lack of secrecy, the character's name and identity will not be revealed.


I feel so disconnected from everything. Emotionless, in a sense. And in another, full. Too full.

Today I sat through a meeting just past noon, letting my eyes gaze numbly through the window that lay perpendicular to me, all of Manhattan stretching out before me, its gray sky swallowing the tops of buildings. To both sides of me were their concerned faces -- brows wrinkled, eyes fixed upon me. Its like they were looking right through me.

Notes were scrawled in black in a small lined book which I duly noted was perfectly kept, not a crease in it. I tried to see exactly what was being written, but the ink fell from its pen too quickly and in lines too small to be legible from where I was sitting.

I've become little words on paper; a file; a case.

And yet they still don't know my secret that I've kept so well concealed beneath this flesh. I may be unraveling at the seams and spilling out in every which way, but its still here. I'm still here.

Someday, someday...

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Would you please STFU!

I am overly aggrevated with all the galling screams and chaos. PLEASE! I beg you. Allow me the pleasures of unadulterated silence and tranquility.

Leave me!

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I write not in forms or word or language, but in complex unison of thought from oppression and exasperation. Writing does not commence with the self, but the collective.

My previous entry depicts the social extremes of health diets; one of many struggling matters dealt by Americans. A diet is none other than “a particular selection of food, esp. as designed or prescribed to improve a person's physical condition or to prevent or treat a disease” (Webster’s).

As a competent web addict, I managed to stumble upon a well-known and familiar blogging site (one I shall not name). I was appalled and dumbfounded by the numerous pages of advocacy, promotion, optimism, and comfort in this so called diet. There were pages after pages of praise and endorsement of depriving the body of its essential nutrients. It was petrifying to read the endless entries of their works. Did I mention; many of the young women and men, yes men, are under the age of sixteen.

Social conformities! Deviation is no longer from the norm. Mediocrity! It’s disheartening and unfortunate that our behaviors correspond with socially acceptable standards, conventions, and rules. Where does the individual stand?


*I did not write the previous entry as a member of the association; however, I did write it for them.

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I spent my horrendously long day at work today running entirely on an empty stomach; vehemently refusing all offers of food and drink. "You look frail," I was told, my face turned pale and my body shaking. Embarrassingly, I quickly scampered to the break room for a fulfilling swig of H₂O.

I never, ever want to eat again. I suppose that's a given, but I love teetering like this, always having to be wary of my weak body and always having to think twice to make sure I keep myself upright. Always the girl with the least food on her plate. ...walking the tight rope between two extremes (perhaps living and dying), safely removed from all of it.

Or am I?

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Some people are so unappreciative....

The onset of lonliness takes over and the realization of reality becomes conspicuously apparent. No matter what or how much you've done, even the person that you love most has betrayed you.

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