The Plight of Platitudes

  As the sun rises here on the porch of the homeless shelter, the house’s cat ambles up beside me. I scratch and caress her head. Her silky black fur seems too soft for a cat. She purrs and nuzzles my hand. She also wants to be fed. If we traded places, would...

Minding the Bubbles of Me

It’s rather intriguing, this conglomerate of selves I collectively call me. That is of course depending upon which self is observing. Others of us find it confusing, irritating, and downright depressing. A therapist might say I struggle with dysregulation. In fact, I...