Just for the record, after at least 15 years, my sister can’t spell my name.


She commiserates with me on having a bad day.

A bad day? Much more than that.  Much more.

And she assumes sleeping in my father’s den will bring me comfort.

Bullshit, death.

Bullshit, death .

Fuckin’ Magical

Saw Disney’s Enchanted, about Princess Giselle who ends up in NYC through the curse of her wicked stepmother.

The message is clear: magic counts.   Unless someone believes and makes it happen, by being in their own magic, it won’t sweep in and change lives around them.

And this is the lesson I need to remember: my magic counts too.

But only if I let it out, express it in the world.