The Solo Table
June twenty-eighth. I've walked past the stairs to that rooftop bar at least a dozen times. Always on the way to something else, always with a vague note in the back of my mind th…
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The Number I Wrote Down
June seventeenth. There's a grocery receipt on my kitchen floor right now that is approximately eleven inches long. I know this because I measured it against my forearm out of som…
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What I Didn't Take a Picture Of
June sixth. It happened again. I made something new for breakfast, not the stock, not anything Simone-adjacent, just a thing I had not made before, a savory situation involving eg…
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The Skimming Debate
May twenty-sixth. The soup was Simone's idea, technically. She mentioned it at the end of Tuesday's session, something about a chicken stock she'd made that week, the bones from a…
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The Tea Went Cold Twice
May fifteenth. Mother's Day. I didn't plan to write anything today. I made tea at eight-something and sat down at the kitchen table with a vague intention to do something producti…
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One Jar of Honey
May fourth. The farmers market two blocks over sets up on the first Saturday of the month and I have been meaning to go since February, which tells you something about how I handl…
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The One Sentence
April twenty-third. I looked it up. That's the sentence. I wrote it in my notebook first, which felt absurd, and then I typed it here, which felt more honest. The tab is still ope…
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Gerald Has Opinions
April twelfth. I moved Gerald about three inches to the left this morning, just to wipe down the shelf, nothing dramatic, and when I set him back I set him in the wrong spot by ab…
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The Tab I Didn't Close
April first. I looked it up. That's the sentence. That's the whole post, technically. Simone mentioned the posting at the end of a Tuesday session in late March, not as a suggesti…
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Seven Minutes With the Menu
March twenty-first. The restaurant has about nine seats at the counter and I was the only one who came alone, which I did not fully think through until I sat down and realized the…
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