First Try, No Witnesses Except the Pothos
The container was the last one in the cabinet and I was fully prepared for the lid to be the wrong lid, the lid from a different container that lives in a drawer somewhere and has…
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A life, written out loud.
Elena Hartwell's journal. Started in a UNC dorm in 2007. Still going.
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Fourteen Bags, Three Flights, One Complaint (From My Arms)
My neighbor knocked around ten in the morning with that specific look people have when they've just arrived from a large grocery run and immediately regretted their optimism. Four…
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The Index Cards Were Color-Coded. I Brought Chips.
There was a quiz. A real one, the kind with a sheet, a deadline, a posted date that I had been aware of for three weeks and had been treating as someone else's problem until forty…
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The Verdict Was In Before I Finished Getting Ready
The earrings were not a plan. I put them on the way you do something without deciding to, grabbed them off the bathroom shelf because they were there, because it was a Tuesday and…
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Unexpected Item
The machine said it four times. Unexpected item in the bagging area. The item, each time, was my hand. Not a bag, not a watermelon, not something ambiguous, my hand, which I was u…
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Gerald Jr. Brought a Bottle Cap
Three weeks running, there has been a crow on the window ledge of the bouldering gym. Not every session, but often enough that Simone and I have started checking before we warm up…
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September Followed Through
The temperature dropped sometime between Tuesday climbing and Wednesday yoga and I did not notice until I was already outside this morning with a scarf I'd grabbed mostly out of h…
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An Hour I Didn't Plan For
I called Carol to check in. That was the plan: a check-in, maybe fifteen minutes, the kind of call that gets made on a Wednesday evening when the week has been unremarkable and yo…
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The Bag Had Other Plans
The paper grocery bag held on through self-checkout, through the walk to the bus stop, through the entire ride home, through the front door, and then, at the precise moment I set…
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The Warp Has Opinions
Third session of the rigid heddle weaving class and I think my wrists filed a formal complaint somewhere around the forty-minute mark. Not a complaint about pain, more the specifi…
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