Starting Over
This was the first time my two-week notice meant anything significant.
This was the first time my two-week notice meant anything significant.
How often do we think about what friendships we make as if it is going to fundamentally alter our souls and our human experience?
The fact that a stereotypical English major job—or any job, for that matter—didn’t fall in my lap right after graduation isn’t my problem. The mixed messages are.
Holding the tassel pole like a fisherman waiting for a bite, I sat on the couch.
For tetherball, I don’t think they make adult-sides versions of the game. Surely they do in the afterlife, right?
That mirrorverse that convinces us that the only way to love something is to dissect it.
It seems that my “inner child” has never felt more far away than it does now.
There was no way I wasn’t going to listen to a song named after my home state.
I like hiking, earthy tones and station wagons—should I go full granola?
My colon felt like it was in my spleen.