F Train, Rush Hour

The headlines to yesterday's newspaper run across three seats, although she occupies only one. Her cheeks are two isolated swathes of bright coral. A pair of swollen feet rest on newspaper padding while printed current events flop complementary to the train. Her bony upper vertebrae curve in a line from the bursting plastic bag at her toes to her pointed nose. Occasionally she peers to looming commuters, huddled in five layers of black jackets, coveting a dust of fine white powder.

My Casserole Life

I am a creative junkie.

I'm a journal writer, an artist, a swing dancer and collector of corks. I fold cranes obsessively and store them in abnormally shaped jars, I adore the patterns at Sal's Boutique and draw trees almost as much as I seek out delectable meals. I collect people's stories, absorb white noise on subways and have developed skills in latte art. I attend lectures, plays, the ballet, improv shows and make jewelry out of recycled materials; meanwhile I'm baking gluten free and gluten full, singing jazz standards and airbrush face painting elaborate works of art on screaming children. I'm a New Yorker with a never ending itch to travel, I'm a young woman with an extra dose of helpless romanticism.

This blog is a big unpredictable work of thoughts: welcome to my life.