– After my brain surgery, I had trouble accepting that I was unchanged. “Do I seem different?” I would ask Rand, time and again. “No,” he’d reply. “Baby, you are exactly the same.” And I’d stare at my reflection in the mirror, at my steroid-induced moonface, and say, “But I look different.” “It’s not how…
It is three days until Christmas. CHRISTMAS. There is just over a week left in 2012. This has taken me somewhat by suprise (fear not: I am dealing with it adequately. Yesterday I had two salted caramel ice creams). I feel like the holiday season came up while I was in the middle of telling a story…
– Sometimes, I suck. I mean, big time. Several of you are reading those lines and thinking, “Oh, yes, I know. I was just about to leave a comment on your blog expressing that EXACT same sentiment.” Others of you are thinking, “Well, sure, you suck, but who among us does not?” And for your…
Sunday was a landmark of sorts, and it passed without me realizing it. That, I suppose, was most significant at all. Sunday was the four-month anniversary of my surgery. At some point, I’d stopped counting the days since my brain surgery, and then the weeks, and now, it seems, the months. Rand had left town…
– Do you ever look back at events, with the hindsight of years gone by, and wonder how exactly you were able to get through them? In high school, a friend of mine commented on this phenomenon. She and I had gone to Homecoming (with our respective dates) a mere two weeks or so after…
It’s been six weeks since my surgery. My surgeon said that it would take about six weeks until I felt completely like myself again. Six weeks until I was more or less recovered. And he was right. I feel like myself. More or less. I feel more tired. And more sensitive. Literally. I have a…
– Have you ever found yourself doing something and had the stunning realization that you are, in fact, a grown-up? Like the first time you get behind the wheel of a car by yourself. Or when you put down the safety deposit on your very own apartment. Or when the D.A. tells you that you’re going…
– It’s taken me a while to get around to writing this post. First, I needed to wait until my rage subsided. That took longer than I thought it would.
Note: The steroids are still in my system, and consequently I am still talking about food. And Vegas. Bear with me, kids. – I am a 31-year-old woman of reasonable intelligence (even after my brain surgery, I feel this latter comment is safe to say). I would like to think that most of my tastes…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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