With the world’s greatest puppy snoozing to my right, a latte next to my keyboard, and Andrew playing video games on the other side of the coffee table, the scene is familiar as the pace of life has changed dramatically over the past few weeks. I’ve taken a few weeks off from work in the wake of COVID-19, but concerns about a dwindling bank account are signaling to me that it’s time to go back, despite my best efforts to…
Dear Me, I’m writing to respond to a letter you wrote to the 40-year-old version of us. Although currently only 28, I felt it’s okay to intercept the correspondence because, you know, I’m us. In the letter you detailed your concerns about your health in the form of repeated and unfortunate expressions of fatphobia. I’ll set aside the embarassing and undignified comments and instead address the other topics you raised. Right now I need to finish my application to join…
You know what’s total garbage? I’m self-imposing a week-long break from running. It’s not just garbage: it’s hot, reeking, cartoon-style-green-fumes garbage. Motivated by a healthy concern for a minor but persistent pain in one of my feet, and nervous about having waited too long before I finally switched running shoes, I figure it’s better to take a week off now when I’m only running a few miles at a time than be forced to sit down in a few months…
In one shift, I estimate I’ve contributed to the production of nearly 100 margaritas. While my boyfriend, with his “real” job with things like minutes for meetings and casual Fridays, is told to stay home, I not only get to attend work in person, but I have to. Facebook is a breeding ground for guilt and soapboxes. Friends whose opinions I respect are begging their friends to save lives by staying home. But here’s what’s happening in my world: Earlier…