Musings – SJ Bocci Writes

New Things, Old Things

Did anyone else used to blog on Xanga way back in the early 2000s? With every blog post, you could add a “Currently Listening” box. You’d type in the name of the song and the article, and it would show the album art (because we all still bought CDs back then). And then you’d veryContinue reading “New Things, Old Things”

Storytelling

“Sarah’s writing a book,” my husband says to his mother. My mother-in-law is the sweetest woman alive. You could tell her I was building sculptures out of feces, and she’d probably find something positive to say about it and mean it. So she looks at me, smiling, and says, “Really? What’s it about?” I’m toldContinue reading “Storytelling”

To my younger self

In this image, I think I’m 17 or 18, judging by my haircut. I had wanted short hair since Megan Follows’ Anne Shirley chopped hers off after accidentally dying it green. Oh, I wanted short hair. So badly. But my parents said, “No.” My hair was too pretty, they said, to be cut short. PlusContinue reading “To my younger self”

Reconnect

Sometimes, my husband and I talk, and we realize that lupus was stealing from us for a long time. A really long time. An unacceptably long time. Because my joints didn’t ache, we didn’t do the bloodwork to look for lupus. The APS antibodies were SCREAMING in blood test results, but lupus was dismissed becauseContinue reading “Reconnect”

Careful, darling

Hello again. It’s been a while. I think that’s because I have less to say, sometimes. I’m stabilizing more and more. My hair is growing back in. The horrific, steroid-induced moonface is fading. I walk up stairs and hills without impediment. I exercise. The panic attacks are further and further apart. My therapist thinks weContinue reading “Careful, darling”

The Sacrifice of Safety

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe I have the words “He’s not a tame lion” tattooed on the inside of my forearm. I adoreContinue reading “The Sacrifice of Safety”

Beauty and the Pedestal

My mom likes to tell this story about me as a tyke, before fashion and weight and acne were even a whisper of a thought. I am three-years-old, fresh out of my parents’ shower, and my mom finds me striking poses in front of her full-length mirror.In my birthday suit.Proud as can be.I had neverContinue reading “Beauty and the Pedestal”