Fingers wrapped around a plastic cup coated in condensation; I study the man just to my left. Ill-fitting charcoal suit, Men’s Warehouse tie, and dress shoes that are both well cared for and weathered. He’s carrying a dated leather briefcase in one hand and a foil-wrapped container in the other. I imagine it’s a breakfast… Continue reading John Doe.
Tag: love
Cheers to Fifty Years.
The Mad Hatter told Alice that she was much more muchier- that she had lost her muchness. I’ve felt this so profoundly at points in my life. Mostly, at the end of, or immediately following the demise of a relationship. How could I make Sus and Doug’s anniversary ode about me? Well, because I’m muchier,… Continue reading Cheers to Fifty Years.
We are all on trial, aren’t we?
The room is inky black and the only real sound I can hear is the whirring of my wall air conditioning unit. Well, that and the dehumidifier that feels essential for life these days. I turn my phone horizontally, hoping that this makes the image large enough to feel a greater sense of connectivity. The… Continue reading We are all on trial, aren’t we?
Go Eat Rocks.
The sticky air has coated every inch of skin and fabric, molding my thighs to the wooden bench below me. I rub my right foot over my left, feeling remaining grains of sand gently abrade the thin epidermis. Staring down at my book, I realize I’ve gazed at the same page for twenty minutes or… Continue reading Go Eat Rocks.
Holy Matrimonial Hell.
I can feel sweat beginning to form on satin that is jammed into my underarm. I’m pissed but this is inevitable. I’m a person who is prone to sweating and Bonnie had to pick motherfucking satin. To be fair, I’m not sure there’s a fabric that would escape my body temperature regulation, but this one… Continue reading Holy Matrimonial Hell.
Pockets of Space.
Perusing Instagram, my attention got stuck on a post about sisters. Specifically, sisters with radically different lives. One sister with a husband and children and one, single and fancy free. This didn’t feel like an accident, as yesterday I stumbled across a post about the grief of parenthood not coming to fruition. The idea that… Continue reading Pockets of Space.
The Hill of Lost Opportunities.
Man, today sucked. I know- what an intro. But it’s true. We had some shit go down at work and I’m feeling heavy. I won’t get into it, but it’s amazing how transformative any version of grief is, isn’t it? I imagine you might be thinking: ‘of course!’ P.S. I didn’t use duh because that… Continue reading The Hill of Lost Opportunities.
Did you read about Kohen?
Did you read about Kohen Wiley? I ask. Who? Danny replies. Kohen Wiley, I say, more emphatically, as if that might change her answer. This is absurd, I recognize. I was in the neurologist’s office yesterday and a woman was there with her elderly mother, and she was doing exactly what I’m doing now. Her… Continue reading Did you read about Kohen?
Sometimes, all you need is a win.
A few days ago, I was sitting, staring at my phone, fingers hovering above the Paypal icon. Should I? No. I shouldn’t, I decided. I swiped up on the screen, careful not to inadvertently submit anything resembling payment, and closed out the window. I don’t need a Knicks t-shirt, even if it’s vintage (love me… Continue reading Sometimes, all you need is a win.
Hot Mess Express.
My brain tracks the bead of sweat as it travels from the nape of my neck, down my spine, and finds a home in the lower region of my thin cotton tank. The dampness of my tank is almost indistinguishable from the veritable pool I’ve accumulated by the waist of my skirt. I press my… Continue reading Hot Mess Express.
