Interpersonal Communication
It was a night class during my first year at the State University of New Paltz. I thought “Interpersonal Communications” would be an easy A,
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The clock survived the assault on its life, requiring only superficial repairs.
Rockford, where my father saw flames explode from my mother’s hair, where he lost his attitude and appetite for drink, where he always said I love you
The one ingredient that all disasters seem to agree on—the proverbial roux in the gumbo—is an inequality of romantic intent.
Let me tell you about dependency. Not the vulgar physical kind—track marks, tremors, the bodily revolt—but something more insidious. A psychological topology where every interaction is mediated through this small, mathematically perfect oval.