The Trouble with Angels: Taming a Halo of Unruly Hair
“In the beauty parlor, I watch my ringlets collect like dark, bushy tumbleweeds on the checkered floor.”
NowYou’re a mess. You’re a mess. You’re a mess
no more tearsno more tearsno more tears
The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin
The Trouble with Angels
The Trouble with Angels Pollyanna
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My relationship with food was a combination of deep love, reverence, and guilt—making it impossible for me to give it up.
I do not believe in a soul but these past six months of illness, I am guilty of dislocating, of clinging to magic. Of wanting relief. Of being sick of being sick.