I turned 37 today.
I share(d) my birthday with my mom, who died of cancer five years ago.
At 33, I wrote about how my mom would have been 54, if only she hadn’t died first. Read more…
I like getting rid of stuff.
Recently, I realized I’ve pared my t-shirt drawer down as far as I can.
What’s left are shirts that are more than shirts to me: They’re reminders of bygone experiences, and who I was when I had them.
My mom sent me the Ducks sweatshirt my first year of law school. She’d picked it up from a garage sale, like she did most the owls she sent me. She didn’t want me to forget where I came from. Or her. Read more…
If we were having coffee, I’d tell you how glad I was to get away from my house for a little.
Feeling slightly abashed, I’d explain I believe it’s possible to have too much of a good thing, and that this fact is very much related to my recent quiet.
Once upon a time, I’d explain, I traveled light. I never wanted to have more than enough possessions that would fit tidily in one or two rooms, which oceans of space between them.
And then? Then I met my future husband. He sees empty space as a challenge: It must be overcome at any and all costs! I’d clear up a little pocket of space only to come back the next day and find a heap of boxes or papers or knick-knacks instead. Add to that a little kid and the space I yearned for was gone. Read more…
O, bloggers and lovers,
Today a friend asked what I thought about dating men with kids. Some of her friends said it was cool. Others said it was a never-do.
I wouldn’t have offered an opinion unsolicited, but I’d been asked.
“Ugh!” I began. “All these stupid rules!”
I don’t support rules for love, or blogging, or most non-paying endeavors.
(I get enough from the government and the workplace, thank you very much.)
When people say you can never date someone who has kids, they’re strangling love before it can even begin to grow. Read more…
I’ve felt ill at ease the last few months.
I didn’t understand why until a couple weeks ago, when I was moved out of my cubicle and into a “bullpen” at work. In these bullpens (or “density enhanced areas,” as a beloved colleague calls them), workers are seated side by side with nary a wall between us. It’s an introvert’s work nightmare. Read more…