A coronavirus-inspired letter home.

Image by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Dear Mum,

Started a garden this weekend, like everyone else I know. Well, really, it was my partner’s idea, but I gleaned on. In WWII, our great grandparents seeded “Victory Gardens.” We should slap such a catchy label on this generation’s bandwagon: Boredom Patches; Redemption Plots; Shelter-in-Place Harvests; Supply Chain Insurance.

In my younger days, shell shocked from a heart-wrenching profession, I sought asylum in the sodden earth and forged a salvation out of nurturing life from the deep. I learned about soil and labor and harvest and death. Today’s disquiet is less corporeal. …


Image by Pixabay

When does a print become imprinted.
On which repetition is a pattern set?
A polymer holds its charge even as its space expands.
Data held in a cloud. A predictable mechanic.

Is it just angles folding in on themselves,
extension of the existing 3 dimensional space,
a linear refraction of an angle across a grid,
Euclid reversed over a different plane?

Is it a dichotomy replicating
until it cannot recognize its source,
shadow boxing with its own mathematics?
Or is there a third dataset at play?

Is there more
to
a
triangle?

A graduated function of addition folded over time…


Microaggressions, Stereotypes, and Women Drivers

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My dad works on large equipment for a living: commercial airplanes, Cat heavy machinery, stuff like that. When it was time for me to learn to drive, I didn’t get cute little orange cones I could smush until my timid heart’s content. I got an obstacle course of excavators, graders, and bulldozers.

He’d take me out on a Saturday when none of the employees were on site, and demo the course he’d designed for me. “Parallel park in these spaces. I made them small so you can learn to get in and out of tight spots.” “Go up this (intensely…


👍 Drop of Blood ❤️

I’d never seen such a look of disgust on his face. He came into the bedroom to tell me that my “things” were touching his toothbrush, with a tone that said I’d better do something about it. I don’t remember how long we’d been seeing each other. I do remember that I never asked him to leave a toothbrush at my place, nor did I choose where he stored it. My box of tampons was sitting in the medicine cabinet, where they had always been. …


For The Anti-Valentines Humbug In You

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The first year we were together, my partner took a shrewd tactic, saying “We can celebrate Valentine’s Day however, and to whatever degree, you want. If you want to exchange presents, that’s cool. If you want me to plan a big night, take you out, and lavish you with gifts, I will do that.”

“Oh, thank you!” I said. “Can we… not?… Like, just not celebrate it at all?”

That first year, my love did make some music for me, which is a welcome gift any time, but also, I suspect, was a cleaver way to give me some intangible…


Body Paint and Images by Sydney Vigotov

Light and Dark. Figure and Ground. One and Zero. On and Off. Neuron and Synapse. Everything we experience, everything we do, everything we are, at some level, can be represented as an interplay of neurons firing and not firing. We extend our arms and dendrites into space, awaiting contact. Neural connections are not static, hard wired links. They are more of a dance: dynamic, responsive, adaptive, but also conditioned, practiced, and reinforced. A bond can be fortified over time by loyalty, and a new path can be forged by the power of will. But at every level, we are always reaching for connection, always reaching outward.


Psychology, Choice, and Oppression

Image by lalesh aldarwish on Pexels

At their best, what the therapists likely saw was people who were suffering, grown adults who were capable of consent and able to make their own decisions, who were begging for help. They were anxious, depressed, suicidal. They detailed the many ways this affliction had ruined their lives, destroyed their families, and impacted their quality of life. The therapists certainly carried with them all the typical prejudices towards homosexuality that predisposed them to unquestioningly agree that it was a “disease.” …


Hint: It’s Not About Your Bleeding Heart

Image by Samuel Schneider on Unsplash

Trump bragged recently that he might keep the government shutdown going for months or even years. That plays well for a lot of people who would prefer to get rid of the federal government or drastically reduce it, at least. I mean, it’s only a partial shut down. We still have the military, and not everyone wants to be paying into entitlements for lazy welfare queens.

While economists warn that 800,000 people going without paychecks, small businesses loans not being processed, and people on food stamps unable to buy groceries for “months or even years” will definitely drag down the…


We Don’t Get To Congratulate Ourselves Over This

When a black child’s body is rented out by someone she cannot escape to other adults for the purpose of sex, she is not a prostitute. She is a slave. When you have sex with a slave, you are committing an act of rape. She has no agency. She has no choice. She cannot consent. Period.

Prostitution is a completely different thing. The crime of plantation slave owners before the Civil War wasn’t farming. It was slavery. All other abuses followed from the fact that the slaves were not free to leave. That’s what made them slaves.

I spent 10…


Navigating Gynecologists’ Resistance to Permanent Birth Control

You Can’t Just Walk In To The OBGYN Office and Ask For It.

Storks Mobile Image by photosforyou on Pixabay

I was 14 when I told my mother I didn’t want kids. At the time, I’m sure she hoped I would grow out of it, but no such luck. I will be forever grateful to my brothers for making her a grandmother and me an aunt.

Granted, 14 years old is definitely too young for permanent birth control. You can’t get a tattoo or vote or go to war. But you can get pregnant, so just over a year later, when I fell in love with the boy who lived two doors down, she took me to get the pill.

Ahnna Marie

Essays. Culture. Equality. Maybe some poetry and light flirting. Pronouns: she/her

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