Winter. Because it sucks up all the noise.
I just don’t for a second, in any possible universe, believe there is an all-knowing creature who is going to scoff at me in the afterlife.
I feel like a $5 happy hour wine is basically free.
I can call myself one of her children.
What really sticks out as a “good” picture here is when the woman is authentically happy.
Sometimes I catch myself literally scrolling through Amazon looking for something that’s going to fix me.
A very good question to ask any taxi driver is “Have you ever driven a celebrity?”
Suddenly I am tangled in someone else’s routine.
I want to tell a story about my body but the only stories I’ve read about bodies are ones in which a broken body becomes fixed.