Skipping Over Life – Introduction

Skipping Over Life is a book-in-progress.  I'll be posting a chapter or two every week until it's finished.  It's a true story about damaged people. Not all damaged people. Mostly, me and my mother. But if you’ve been at all damaged by the world, you might relate. I’ve always been interested in how life transforms a person from a sweet googly ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Twelve

We stayed at Jeanette's a few weeks before moving into our very first apartment together. My mother set up a mattress on the floor and we slept side by side which was the most wonderful thing in the world since I’d grown used to begging for her presence at night by feigning thirst. I remember one of those nights being awakened by my mother sc ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Thirteen

At some point I realized our vacation was taking a long time to end and I asked my mother when we were going home. I think this was when she sat me down and explained we were on a permanent vacation. That we weren’t going home. From my memory my mother tried to make this sound exciting. But it made me nervous. My mother never outright used the w ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Fourteen

Being a singer wasn’t as easy as my mother imagined. In this world, it’s not like you can just swing open the door of your house and start belting out a tune. That’s not what’s meant by Being a Singer. I mean you could just sing. But in this world, mostly homeless or drugged out people do that. Well, and a few really free folks who have not ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Fifteen

Every hour I begged my mother to take me somewhere. After all, I didn’t need to be Somebody to be in the world back then. I was excited enough just to experience being alive. And she’d say, “Darling, once I get a job we can go anywhere you want.” And when that didn’t happen, she bought me a TV and a beanbag chair so she could plan for her ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Two

My mother met my father in a hospital. Neither were patients. Though, looking back, they probably could have been. My mother was a volunteer. Well, she was forced to volunteer as part of her community service after she’d been kicked out of college for swiping her roommate’s checkbook and going on a shopping spree. And my father, he was an obste ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Sixteen

I remember the first time I saw my father after the divorce. I waited hours by the window for his silver Buick LeSabre, my pink suitcase all packed and ready to go. I’m sure my mother hated every second of it. My father says he took me to McDonald's and that while we were in line some guy turned around to leave and that I ran after him. My fat ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Seventeen

When I was four, my mother sent me to preschool. Dropped me off with a bunch of other abandoned little sickos desperate for love and attention. The teacher taught us how to sort kidney beans. (It was Montessori. They were big into sorting.) And I sat next to a pigtailed girl named Annie who was ridiculously uncoordinated. She kept dropping her bean ...Continue Reading
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Chapter One

Once upon a time, I was happy. This was early on, though. Just before my birth, and just after it. My mother awaited my arrival like others wait for the Messiah. I was to be her own personal Christ Child— delivering her from the everything she felt so very disconnected to. And my father, well, he isn’t really apart of this picture. My mother re ...Continue Reading
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Chapter Thirteen and a Half

I always knew I wanted to be an archaeologist. If I were a more well-adjusted human being, I would probably be excavating the remains of dinosaurs right now instead of unearthing almost the entirety of my past trying to locate what might have once filled this empty space in my heart. I thought at first I was looking for my true self. But I reali ...Continue Reading
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