Sherri Cornelius

I wonder if I'm a good parent. I worry my kids feel they can't talk to me. I fear I'm too strict lenient strict.I know how my childhood affected my behavior as an adult. I've seen the same path in others who were raised in very similar circumstances,.

My creativity quietly began to assert itself this week. Several things happened to facilitate that, starting with the list from last Thursday’s post. Listing the possible stumbling blocks brought them to my attention, forced them out of the recesses.

I guess I’ve been in a kind of shock over the past few months, but as I was looking in the mirror today, it struck me: I’m 40. How the hell did that happen? How in the world did I become a creature that a man in his 30s (always my benchmark for solid.

I've really been avoiding writing this post. I came up with several different topics, wrote some on each, and decided to write about quitting. How you might decide whether it's worth your while to discard what you've worked toward and start fresh. But.

I tried to blog yesterday, I really did. But the kids were home for MLK day, and… Well, that’s all I have. And that’s not even a real excuse, but if you see what I wrote yesterday, you’d be glad I didn’t post it. Borrring.Or maybe you haven’t noticed.

I often don’t start ambitious projects because I’m afraid to fail, as many of us are, but also because I know how likely it is that I will lose interest in the project before it really takes off. I have huge temporary ambitions every day. Usually, if.

I’ve had this feeling lately. You know, a feeling. A feeling that the world is going through a major shift in consciousness, but maybe it’s just me. I feel the need to be part of a group, working for something bigger than what I could do alone.Also,.

The kids and husband are firmly back in the outside world, post-holidays, and I am still ensconced at home, relieved to have my quiet days back, but missing the family at the same time. I’m learning just how hard it is to pick up a long-abandoned manuscript.

We all try to hide our ugliness on the web, where it will undoubtedly linger for thousands, if not millions, of years. One errant photo will come back to haunt us, or perhaps our mainframe-dwelling descendants.We pose:We laugh:We ham it up:And then fate.