One Day Dex Could Fly (Chapter 5)

Chapter 5 of an original comedy web serial about a young, rather uptight law associate who inexplicably wakes up one morning with wings, and his sarcastic but loving and loyal best friend--EXCERPT: "Are you talking about your wings?" Sawyer asks. She's not whispering at all. In fact, her voice sounds insanely loud to me. "Shhh!" I hiss, glaring, and then look around the train car nervously. "Are you insane?" I say through my teeth. "Shut. Up." "Dude, chill. I'm just making sure I understand what's going on here. Besides, no one cares," Sawyer continues. "This is Boston, not Smallfrytown with gossipy old ladies and nosy, bored, retired old-timers. But hey, if it makes you feel better, we could come up with a code name for them. You know, I was just listening to Iron Maiden yesterday--how about Icarus?" The Iron Maiden is a medieval torture device and Icarus is a character from Greek mythology. I can see the connection with Icarus, but the torture device? On second thought...maybe that's accurate.

One Day Dex Could Fly (Chapter 4)

Chapter 4 of an original comedy web serial about a young, rather uptight law associate who inexplicably wakes up one morning with wings, and his loyal, sarcastic but loving, carefree best friend. Shenanigans ensue--EXCERPT: "'When are you going to fly again?' I ask, tossing the ice pack onto the boring side table with the slim, metal lamp that looks about as stable as a paperclip. 'I promise I won't faint again.' Dex turns his head without actually looking at me. 'Sawyer,' he says, voice tight. 'The varnish.' 'Huh?' 'The ice pack. The condensation will ruin the varnish.' Varnish? Dex can fly, has wings, and he's worried about varnish?!

One Day Dex Could Fly (Chapter 3)

Chapter 3 of an original comedy web serial--EXCERPT: "Oookay, buddy," Sawyer says, holding her hands up and looking at me like I'm a wild, skittish animal who might bolt. I have wings. Maybe I will bolt. Feeling tremendous pressure to assure her that I am not insane, I shoot to my feet, which wracks me with that horrible sensation as my wings emerge out of the floor and slide through the wall behind me as I rise. My quick move has unforeseen consequences.

As Loss

Depression is more like grief. It's a crushed feeling. A grinding into dust. A shattering. A grating apart like flour forced through a sifter. A parasitic tapeworm of the soul. A weight on my chest, so heavy I can hardly breathe, producing the panic of an asthma attack, as if I am about to die.

One Day Dex Could Fly (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2 of an original comedy web serial--EXCERPT: When he called forty minutes ago, Dex said nothing specific, only something about him being sick or whatever and to please, please come over ASAP, and to tell Boss Man it was totally his fault for me having to bail on work. (Dex doesn't know Boss Man's actual name and has never asked. Sometimes even I forget his real name. He's the dude that signs the paychecks and that's all that matters. Beauty of working as a newbie, fresh-out-of-college graphic artist at a chill, online magazine with a focus on conspiracy theories and pseudoscience.)

One Day Dex Could Fly (Chapter 1)

Chapter 1 of an original comedy web serial--EXCERPT: "Like fingers from a closed fist or the petals of a budded flower, I feel the new limbs open until they pull completely free of my skin. This is at once terrifying and oddly familiar...almost as if I'm allowing myself a satisfying stretch after being cooped up in a small space for hours. They continue to expand, nerves, sinews, muscles, bones lengthening at the buzzing speed of shooting stars, stretching out until they must be twenty feet across or more."

The Shape of Gratitude

Gratitude is never first on the scene. Like anger, it's a reaction only, more often a choice, and when consistently pursued, a habit. Like other emotions, it's a fuel. But unlike depressive states, it's not a fuel that burns me down to ashes, it's a fuel that drives me forward. It's flexible to any kind of attack, has no end, and it can roll any which way. Like a sphere, I suppose. Love is also like that. To me, gratitude in the midst of my circumstances, no matter what they are, is an expression of love toward my God; an unwritten love letter lived out.