Birds chirped high in the trees, more scattered from her feeders as she shut the door behind her. The feeders were getting low. She needed to buy birdseed, but was it worth the risk? Was there actually any risk? Whatever. It’s annoying out there, she thought, picturing that crying baby’s wet and anguished face. The world couldn’t stay gross forever. The birds could wait.
I drank my coffee on the porch, listening to birdsong and smelling whiffs of ocean mist that spilled over the mountains. As far as I could tell, the spider was keeping her promise.
rewilding (yurt story) Read More »
I was, I thought, cool. Not in the real effortless Paul Newman way we think of cool, obviously, but I believed that if I adorned myself with enough physical trappings of cool, I would absorb it by osmosis. Like the giant bug alien (Edgar) in Men in Black, I was wearing a cool suit. And just like Edgar, I was not pulling it off.
cool girl, bad habits Read More »
A notebook with a green cover like a pool table held accounts of trying and failing to spend less money. It landed on the coals with a sigh, and a hundred pages of angst and sadness went up in flames.
lighting me on fire Read More »
I travel a lot, but not because I love it. I don’t have some great passion for exotic cuisine or penchant for historical sites. I do it mainly because it’s something to do. Moving around a lot as a kid instilled a certain level of wanderlust in me, and working a remote job now means that if I see something cool on Instagram, I can usually figure out a way to go there. So I do. And with each trip I add to my stack of interesting anecdotes, but I won’t list “travel” as a hobby. My hobby is people.
I’m watching low clouds pour over the sandstone peaks of the Colorado Front Range from the window of my rented cabin. The grey damp lends itself to a productive day of work at my laptop, letting me get lost in deep projects or skim across my email inbox like a hawk across the glassy surface
Describe, prescribe, asses, treat, make broad promises and repeat until I’m paralyzed and exhausted.
No matter where I am currently living, every 6 months or so I am required to travel back to Colorado for a haircut. Finding someone that you trust with your tresses is delicate, vulnerable work. For that reason I am unflinchingly loyal to my stylist, even though it means a $200 haircut quickly spirals into
I was 3 the first time I left home. I’d woken up early to a silent house. Mom was at work. Dad was asleep somewhere after a late shift. I was functionally alone, and I began to pack my things.
I left that witch shop and North Carolina weeks ago, but those 5 seconds of hot awkwardness ripple the pristine surface of an otherwise flawless excursion.