At times, we all feel like kids at summer camp. As campers, the "mess hall" is where you gather, eat, share stories, and make new messes. This blog is about being stained: the stains we make and the stains that make us—and all the messiness along the way…
Liam Kelley scratches at a blotch of dirt in his parents’ backyard—by the flower bed and the old tree stump. By the fence that collapsed last time it snowed and his father—Bill Kelley—was out of town. Liam lives at home and, in exchange for help with attorney fees, has agreed to fix things around the house.
Read MoreI felt it before I saw it.
Warm, wet, right between my legs as I was in a meeting with clients. We were talking about how much revenue they made from X campaigns and how the email open rates were—a realm of life that wasn’t real
Read MoreThe room smells like smoke, wet and dewy like lime and soil. Something primal is here. It's quiet but with a low beat circulating around us, droning in the background, like we're in a whale's stomach
Read MoreCan you imagine the feel of a car on black ice? Have you ever stepped off an edge, expecting solid ground and finding only air? Could you pick that panicked stomach drop out of a lineup?
Read MoreYou have made it exactly 43 minutes into your Wednesday morning before that bold wardrobe choice becomes a familiar lament.
White? Haven’t you learned?
Read MoreFor the first decade of my life, it was something I rarely noticed. It was just a part of me, like my unruly hair, blue eyes and pigeon-toed gait. However, once I started middle school, the blemish could no longer be ignored.
Read More“If it fell in there, it's yours now,” she said matter of factly, staring past the necklace dangling from my fingers, saying as much with her eyes as her words.
Read MoreThere are few things cuter, and sadder, than a mouse’s unaware butt inside a mouse trap that you’ve caught him in…
Read MoreSitting here, facing a blinking cursor on a blank page, the nail of my ring finger robotically picks at the nail fold of my thumb like a metronome. After I get a bit of traction in the flesh, I switch to the sharper tool of my first finger, which is slightly serrated thanks to a sloppy bite a few hours back, or perhaps yesterday. I don't need to look at my hands to work an itch.
Read MoreIn splatters of oil—hot wax covering the body from head-to-toe, and you still work reception without screaming—the lamplight badly hitting your shorts or movie star shoes—burn after wearing. Burn after marring. (Burn after first sign of a mistake.)
Read MoreThe bad days still come on fast as summer storms—violent and unannounced. They might be beautiful if I could find shelter. The air clings to me like drying blood, the empty edges blur and the space around my body shakes. My breath comes in gasps, no longer natural, but consciously made. Each inhale is a decision to live. Have you ever felt a code red in your bones?
Read MoreI only possess things that hold history, specifically a history that I know intimately and played a role in creating. Yes, I do own certain kitchen appliances and pairs of jeans that lack a nostalgic backstory, but for the most part…
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