Scene 1: Bishon and the Apples This is scene that occurs almost everyday in my house. Every morning. Bishon comes back from his walk, licks Mother awake. sleeps for an hour, has breakfast and just wander about flopping himself in the coolest place his Labrador fur seeks. Around 11 every…

I sat on the porch sipping my tea, it was very dark and dreary. Not the weather, no. My brain. The inside of my head. It wasn’t like this last week. Not even four days ago. And now. I sighed. There had been no signs whatsoever. Or had I not…

I was done with my walk and almost at my house. It was time for the plunge: my daily morning ritual of being consumed by the waves and resurfacing renewed and cleansed. I surrendered all my stress to the sea at that moment. That moment of being slapped by a…

I was up at the Agam Centre, hacking away at the carrots. Sweat beads were forming on my brows, the lights illuminating the space ship were not helping. The mincer had broken and there was no spare left. I had been given a warning yesterday for not doing enough. 700…

Something I’ve learned early on about my anxiety, is that he’s like a dog that’s sleeping with one eye open. Resting, but alert. Waiting quietly for an ugly thought to surface, or just a chance to make ugly any thought that surfaces. That’s when it pounces. It takes maybe a…