Memory is tricky. Porous. It shifts and rearranges, until you’re left holding something delicate and fragile, that you hope or believe is true. Or is a version of the truth, at the very least. Back to us: I am 27; she is 41. I never stop to wonder if I am in love. I still... Continue Reading →
When I was 27, I fell for a woman who was 41. I fell hard. And fast. It was exhilarating. I fall easily. It’s a known quantity. But this moment in time caught me finally climbing out of a yearlong depression. The darkest I’d ever experienced. Things were starting to look brighter, though, by which... Continue Reading →
I broke up with my therapist a little while back. Nice woman. Jaunty British accent. Gay. (She got good marks on all these fronts.) But, we ran up against a topic that she just wasn’t able to hear me on. I like to tell people that I broke up with her because she told me... Continue Reading →
A friend asked me recently if I’m a hugger. We met post-pandemic, are new friends and are still in that stage where these little revelations are significant. “Yes!” I enthused. Followed by a pause. “Well, I think I am.” More pausing. “I suppose I’m a hugger more in theory than in practice now.” The pandemic... Continue Reading →
I went clambering up an embankment this morning, using roots as footholds, basically feeling like a badass. A very tired badass. Who cusses a lot. When normal people find out that I run miles in the woods for fun, they think I’m weird. Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall? they inquire, clearly concerned about my physical... Continue Reading →
It’s come to my attention that maybe I’m a little bit of a prude. Okay, okay… that’s too harsh. But I have discovered that maybe I’m not as sex-positive as I thought I was. Sure, I can say a lot of the right things about sex. And sex as an abstract concept is a-okay. But... Continue Reading →
Grief is sneaky. And it can only be kept at bay for so long. Above all else, grief wants to be felt. To be dealt with. Grief wants you to sit right there in it. Some stupidly beautiful TikTok song that Jane played for me on our way to the Little Tart for a before-school... Continue Reading →
I had no idea what I was doing when I opened a small, independent bookstore three and a half years ago. I also had no idea that I had no idea. A startling worldwide pandemic swooped in six months later, disabusing me of the notion that I understood anything about, well, anything. Seemed like as... Continue Reading →
Krispy Kreme was a whim. I was ready to cocoon in my hotel room with a piece of writing that’s eluding me. Maybe, with no distractions, I could finally coax it out. I was really too full for a donut. I’d just eaten dinner, which featured thick steak fries, with a light brown crisp around... Continue Reading →
I made a new friend. At work. Because owning a bookstore means my new friends come to me. I’m lucky that way. Anyway, this new friend, she’s smart. And a lot silly. She likes books. And she wears cooler clothes than me, which I find funky, inspiring, and (surprisingly) not threatening. She’s younger than me,... Continue Reading →
