Another days work, on the first great pyramid.

I woke up in darkness.

No one had lit the morning fires.

That was unusual so I stayed in my sleeping quarters for a moment.

I could hear snoring.

It was like a blade sharpening on a stone wheel.

Ptomeses. He’d broken his nose moons ago when we were kids. It had never healed right. It made sense. The people in our village couldn’t afford a priest. A priest would’ve fixed it.

Not that we were poor. We had a few Ox. Two village huts for gathering and worship.

I’d woken up before I should’ve. That had been happening lately.

Best to just try and go back to sleep.

Except, I had to pee. I knew I shouldn’t have had that extra sip of water before bed. But I did. And here I was.

I cursed myself for not trying harder to get a sleep space closer to the entrance. I would’ve but there were old men in there 30’s! I wasn’t exactly young but at 20 I just couldn’t justify it.

Oh well. I could just close my eyes and go back to sleep. Once the first morning fire was lit, I could just run out and pee. No problem.

I listened to Ptomes snoring. It had a rhythm.

Like the performers on holy days.

I closed my eyes and timed my breathing with the rhythm of the snoring.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard the commotion of sticks rubbing together.

It was morning.

A fire ahead lit up.

It illuminated the middle aisle in our cave.

I sat up as they moved closer to me, starting the process of lighting the next of many fires.

It was enough light for me to make a bee line outside to pee.

I did.

When I got outside, I could see the dim brilliance of Ra. The sun God. He had granted us another day. And more importantly, light for me to run to the ditches we could pee in.

I ran, and released. Good thing. If I had gone in my sleeping quarters, I would have had to clean it.

That could take some time. Time when I was supposed to be working for our Pharaoh.

Could’ve really affected my wages.

I needed all my wages to buy food for my sister and her son.

They depended on it.

I was about to head back to the cave when I saw the most beautiful sight.

Ra, the Sun god had risen from his slumber. He shined a soft light on the side of our building site.

The architect had said that would happen and that it was a sign of good fortune yet none of us had actually seen it.

It was amazing! Real! Maybe what we had sold ourselves into was worth it!

We weren’t encouraged to talk to each other about such things but I couldn’t wait to spread the word.

The pyramid we were building would in fact bring freedom and good faith to our families.

The progress of women in the recent past from the pov of an almost “older” woman

I grew up in a passively sexist society.

The 1980’s.

This time warranted the song “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper.

I can relate.

I washed dishes while my brother, the same age, was left to his own devices with his transformers and his castle grey skull.

My She-Ra and little ponies would breach that castle eventually but that’s beside the point.

I think I read that Cyndi wrote this song about being a child and having to do chores while other kids, boys, played and were given the clear message to follow their dreams. Do what feels good to you. Nothing to do with duty. Test your limits.

While girls were given fear, and limitations.

I experienced teachers not only NOT calling on me in class but actually rolling their eyes when I raised my hand.

It got so bad that around grade 3, I stopped raising my hand even though I knew the answer for fear of this humiliation.

I dropped that fear silently in grade 4, and did my best on a science test.

I got an A+.

It had been a year since I’d scored so high and I was so incredibly was proud of myself.

I told a friend, quietly. Not quietly enough apparently because I heard whisper’s saying “she’s showing off”.

I was horrified and never talked about a good grade again.

Actually, I lost the want to even get a good grade.

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!

I became invisible until I grew breasts.

Then, I couldn’t stay invisible no matter how much I tried.

I had attention.

I started wearing makeup at that point. It was junior high. I was 12.

I remember a boy stopping me in the hallway and telling me I looked like a “porcelain doll”.

I was so flattered.

My self worth went from a 2 to 11. If I wasn’t going to be valued for my mind, I might as well be valued for my looks.

It didn’t get better from there.

I spent the rest of my teenage years overlooking my personal feelings of worth in favor of a negative idea of who I should be.

I should look like a manikin. Like a porcelain doll.

Let’s face it, 90’s fashion definitely supported this idea.

Babydoll dresses anyone?

There were definite extenuating circumstances in play so I can’t blame society completely for this, but it didn’t help.

Today, 2022, I see younger women in there 20’s & 30’s and I’m so impressed!

They don’t seem to have the same shame instincts that I had.

The same obligatory hesitation for anything.

I’m so happy about that.

Because we’ve come a long way baby! (The slogan for Virginia Slims cigarettes back in the day)

This past week I’ve seen two incredible doctors, both young woman, who just impressed the shit out of me.

Over the past 10 years I’ve met so many young women that also have impressed the shit out of me.

I’m so excited to see what they do.

I’m excited to take inspiration from them and see what I can do.

That’s all.

Sexual Vs Sensual: Part 2

She was in the elevator….. she regretted her decision immediately.

He wanted sex.

She couldn’t give him that.

He might just take it.

It would be be understandable if he just took it.

She hadn’t thought this thorough.

She braced herself for anything. If anything, she’d have empty sex and it would last till the next train.

She’d leave her body. In terror.

But she would come back. At least a part of her would come back.

The part that felt nothing. The part dissociated with the deepest part of herself.

She reached his floor.

The elevator opened.

Part of herself had already left the building.

There she was, at his door.

She knocked.


She knocked again.

The door opened.

His eyes were kind. And deep.

Maybe he was like she thought. It would be rare.

She remembered her last boyfriend. He held a knife to her throat.

“I didn’t think you’d come”.

Her subconsciousness took on a life of its own.

“Is this okay?”

He opened the door wide.

“Of course. Come in.”

She did.

It was a suite. He had money. Or someone did and was paying for it.

“Are you hungry?”

He seemed sincere. She didn’t have a concrete reason not to trust him. If there was doubt it was her, not him.

She dropped her bag on the loveseat and turned to face him.

He smiled.

She was disarmed.

“I’m good. Unless you were going to order food…”

He sat down on the loveseat.

“Nah, I’m good. I was hoping you’d come.”

There was a desk with a chair toward the back of the room.

“Remember what we talked about?”

She walked over to the desk and moved the chair backwards and sat down.

“Yes. It’s interesting. I’ve never thought about that before.”

She gripped the middle of the chair with her hands and widened her legs.

“What do you think?” she asked

“It’s up to you.” he said

She got up and stood in front of him.

He turned to face her.

“Put your hands back.”

He extended his hands on the back of the loveseat, palms out.

She took her shirt off to reveal a black lace bra.

“I can’t have sex with you. But I think I can pleasure you.”

She unbuttoned her jeans.

“Remember what I said. I can leave my body at anytime.”

“I remember.”

He was relaxed as she slipped out of her jeans.



Sensual vs Sexual: a narrative story Part 1

She took her time walking through midtown. It was already 1:30 AM. The last train had left the station at 1:15.

She’d been working at the club.

She’d made a connection with a customer and gotten lost in his eyes.

Normally she’d give herself a good amount of time to transform into her everyday self.

No makeup, jeans, t shirt.

This time, she didn’t.

She felt the two versions of herself as one. She’d leave as her hyper sexual alter ego.

The one that turned her back on the customers and danced provocatively for herself.

There was a mirrored wall on the back of the stage.

She’d never found herself more beautiful. Or sensual.

She’d move her hips to the music. Run her hands up and down her torso, and when the time was right, unclasp her bra.

At that point, she’d turn around and let the men admire her.

She loved it.

That was huge since she hadn’t ever had consensual sex without a debilitating flashback that rendered her a small terrified child.

Just when it was getting good.

She got to grand central and considered sitting on the ground outside the main entrance till the trains started running at 5:30. She’d done it before.

It was cold. She wasn’t completely prepared for it.

She reached into her coat pocket and found a slip of paper.

Hyatt Grand Central Rm 206.

She remembered his eyes.

Kind. Deep.

“If you want, come and see me. We’ll talk.”

That’s what he’d said at the end of the lap dance she’d given him.

They’d talked for a good hour at the bar before that.

More than what she should’ve according to her employer and bartenders.

There was just something about him.

Like he saw her.

Really saw her.

She made a decision….

Part 2 coming soon…

Hot Flash

As a woman I’ve often heard about hot flashes.

These are things that happen to older women and they’re often met with an eye roll.

Like they’re not really happening and should just be shrugged off.

I admit, as a young woman, whenever an older woman complained about a hot flash, I thought she was over exaggerating.

This is the product of women diminished.

Especially women over 40.

I, 46, have been experiencing hot flashes lately.

They’re nothing like I thought. It’s physical not mental. Guess what, I can think and function during a hot flash. I can even make informed decisions.

You’re hot if you’re in a full tuxedo in July, in New York, upstate, in a tent, for so many hours.

The heat is from the outside in. It can be changed by the temperature changing.

A hot flash, is opposite.

It’s like your bones are radiators and the heat is coming from within. I’ve never been so uncomfortable.

I just hope,going forward that my co workers are sensitive to this.

Not that I was ever sensitive to the ones before me.

It’s just not a thing, but I hope it can be.

At the moment,anyone that thinks it’s not, will have to deal with my very reasonable wrath.

Just trying to live my best life. Just trying.

Seriously, I’m sorry for all the women that came before me, going through menopause and I didn’t understand.

Give yourself a gift and recognize a gift

Radio City Christmas Tree, brighter than I remember.

Everyday I judge myself for the things I haven’t done.

I don’t have kids.

I don’t own a business.

I haven’t changed the world as a whole.

What if, helping an older lady up the stairs on the subway platform was enough.

What if deciding to be positive today was enough.

What if saying, excuse me,when I bump into someone was enough.

That would be in fact enough.

It’s the little things accumulated that turn into enough.

My day is lifted by politeness.

By holiday lights.

By a smize behind the mask.

By people wearing masks.

I went into Manhattan today on Christmas Eve and I was uplifted by how many people gave me the respect of wearing masks and bumping into me and saying excuse me.

That doesn’t always happen.

Happy holidays!!

Another man’s trash: Why You should mindful of want you say

We don’t all understand what the other has been through. What they’ve experienced throughout their lives.

What upsets one may not upset the other.

What is wonderful to one is triggering to another.

Let’s talk about the word “triggering.“

Some may think it means to gently annoy.

Or to make someone roll their eyes or upset to the point of rolling their eyes.

Not true.

It’s actually a professional term.

It means to evoke strong feelings that overtake.

If you are someone with an anxiety disorder, it stops you in your tracks.

If you are someone who has PTSD, it stops you in a different way.

You hear the trigger. It could be anything that reminds you.

You shut down slowly by coasting over any feeling.

But you are slowing down. You are slowly dissociating.

By slowly, I mean minutes, hours or days.

You are moving away from the present to oblivion.

Oblivion turns out to be a place you’ve been before.

When you were helpless.

When no one would hear you.

But you’re not there yet.

You have to work in the meantime.

Excellence is expected.

But you’re off.

You’re in the past but you’re also in the present.

It’s an impossible situation and you’re set up to fail.

Like you felt you failed in the past, no matter how old you were, and any criticism cuts like a knife.

Because you’re a failure.

It’s a headspace that you’re physically unable to release yourself from.

This is different from direct re trauma.

Like, your trauma stems from a civilian explosion in your house, you hear a loud noise in the distance, and you instinctively put your head between your knees.

Conversely, This is pervasive.

It can start with an idea.

It’s a real thing and it’s devastating.

It’s also basically invisible to the naked eye of anyone not experiencing these things.

Therefore it doesn’t really exist to most.

This makes it so much worse for the experiencer.

I appreciate those who talk openly about mental health.

About things that most would like to ignore.

Because no one wants to be vulnerable.

And for some, vulnerability has devastating consequences.


Hello menopause, we’ve been waiting for you. Here’s where my mind goes in this process.

46, looking down the barrel of 47

Getting older is hard. Especially for a woman. Appearance wise I mean.

As women,our worth is often tied to how desirable we are to men.

Perky breasts, bright eyes, supple skin.

All of that is maintained by hormones. Hormones that rely on you bleeding every month. Hormones that rely on you being of child bearing capability.

That’s what’s really attractive isn’t it?

That you can have children.

Often mistaken for “looking good”. Often mistaken historically for “a woman’s purpose.”

If that were true, anyone with the wrong chromosome, would be obsolete at age 40.

As a result, women over age 40 are seen as obsolete. That’s what my experience tells me. I’m 46, looking down the barrel of 47.

History is to blame.

You see, the importance of hunting,because it’s in your face and immediate, has stood the test of time.

Childbirth, taking time, 9 months to be exact, is a slow burn and less noticeable than something that’s immediate.

Therefore, men seem to be more impressive than women. More important.

The day to day things that keep us going are not as impressive.

I think of peacocks. The males have this flashy plumage to attract females.

But, in human culture, females are the ones with the plumage. Artificial of course, so can’t really hold any respect or power. makeup, push up bra’s, high heels….ect.

I wonder who decided this was a thing? probably a very loud voice.

Males are better and more respectable than females.

Could it be competition? Females can do something males can never do? Bear a child? Notice details?

Could it be the ideas of a loud group somewhere in time? IE, the Bible?

Perception is everything. An entire industry was built on that. Marketing.

I think the press on females has definitely improved, but I see the difference every time I venture out into the world.

Every time I work.

I’m a manager, but if there’s a male who’s also a manager, eyes and confidence go immediately to him. People are different in front of him.

I have to instill confidence to the point of annoyance. Some might roll their eyes.


I know I’m capable. I know I won’t have a child. But I can be instrumental. Even if it’s not recognized.

The Phoenix from the flames

We’ve all been through hell.

We’ve all thought about what we want.

What we need.

What we’re willing to accept for a paycheck.

We’ve been there. We’ve been absolute in our findings.

We’ve re entered society.

We’ve found our approach different.

We’ve tried to adhere to our knew findings.

It’s worked to a point.

Work is work.

Capitalism is capitalism.

I tried.

I tried to look after myself spiritually but then reality grabbed me by the neck.

I need to pay rent. I need money to survive.

I need to bend my beliefs to survive.

I forgot.

It’s been so long that I forgot.

I forgot my beliefs could be blended.

I forgot my beliefs could change based on what I need. Right now.

I forgot how dire my situation was.

If I don’t earn a paycheck this week, I’m fucked.

During the pandemic, I learned so much about what I need. So much about what I want.

I could be so happy but then reality set in.

I need to remember what I need. What I want.

Then, I’m back to square one.

%d bloggers like this: