Who am I, really?
Daughter. Sister. Wife. Mother. I’ve climbed mountains, paddled rivers, burnt marshmallows, and crossed Dale Mabry during rush-hour. I swoon at the smell of Ukrainian street food. I have written 1/3 of 3 separate novels (which together constitutes a single, abstractly brilliant whole). I have befriended robots, and on Tuesdays I host a raucous game of full-contact Settlers of Catan; I have never lost a thumb war. My knowledge of 18th Century British silverware patterns has saved lives. Once, when I was 12, I sang the National Anthem at the opening game for the Devil Rays without once moving my lips. I visit incarcerated kittens in my spare time. I teach high school, I have read the entire works of William Shakespeare to my unborn child, and, for a small fee, I smuggle designer pleather hand bags into Miami. My double-budding Plumeria blossoms have won me international prestige in certain elite botanical circles; but unbeknownst to them, I moonlight as a guerrilla gardener under the code name “Schmoops”. I bake pumpkin pies from scratch. And sometimes, I write fiction.