Dear Lauren, Love Lauren

Dear Lauren, Love Lauren

The following is a completely fictional recorded conversation between my past and present selves. It is transcribed as it was spoken and it is also not real.   18-year-old Lauren: Dear 25-year-old Lauren, I hope you’re no longer miserable. Please tell me that...
Dreaming Again

Dreaming Again

I feel sort of like Cinderella using every available moment to frantically clean up my life so that I might finally get what I want, except I have no animals, no magic, and no shoes made of glass (thank god).

Writing Space

Writing Space

Perhaps the trick isn’t finding the perfect place, the perfect pen, the perfect aesthetic, the correct combination of elbow patches, pipe smoke, and whiskey. Perhaps the trick is simply to not have a trick.

Love Hate

Love Hate

One thing about people close to you: they know just what to say. I am haunted by what she told me when we broke up.

A Grandmotherly Half-Truth

A Grandmotherly Half-Truth

It frustrates me to hear people complain that they feel like they’re choosing between two evils or that they’ll just stay home on Election Day or that they’ll pack up and move to Canada if things don’t go their way.

The Big Clean

The Big Clean

I drag around furniture, scramble on top of kitchen counters. I dust, I sweep, I wipe. I also bleach and mop, neaten, vacuum, air, fluff, and polish.

Tiny White Moments

Tiny White Moments

Reaching through the grated door, I run a fingertip along the tiny white foreleg of a tiny white lamb curled on the straw inside. He slid into the world less than a week ago beside his glossy black sister.