What the Coat Looked Like When I Actually Looked
February twenty-fourth. The coat was on the hook. It has been on the hook every morning for four months, longer, probably; I stop counting when a thing becomes a given. I was head…
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The Mug Got Its Picture Taken
February thirteenth. There is a version of this I did not write, the one where I explain, carefully, all the reasons the camera stayed in the bag. I have been drafting it since Oc…
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The Tab That Closed While I Wasn't Looking
February second. The cooking class ran six weeks. I went once. That was October, and I wrote eleven days after the fact about the pasta water, what it actually meant, why it had s…
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The Mug on the Sill
January twenty-second. There is a version of this post I have been writing in my head since October, maybe earlier, since the third walk when I carried the camera and came home wi…
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What Two Weeks Off Costs You
January eleventh. The Tuesday sessions resumed this week, which I knew they would, and which I had been quietly dreading in a way I kept not-naming until I was standing at the bas…
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The Last Tuesday of the Year
December thirty-first. The Tuesday sessions end the same way they always do, gear returned or shouldered, the same ten seconds of standing near the exit while you decide if you fo…
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I Looked Up Whether Defying Gravity Is Possible and Lost Two Hours
December twentieth. The plan was simple: finish the movie, be in bed by ten. The movie in question was Wicked, which I had already seen and was rewatching because it is December a…
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The Call Ran Long
December ninth. The apartment goes quiet in a specific way this month. Not the usual quiet, the building settles, Gerald does nothing, the windowsill holds its arrangement the sam…
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The Corner Booth, After Hours
November twenty-eighth. Simone turned thirty-six this year, and when I asked what she wanted to do she said a good dinner, which meant exactly what it sounds like: a real restaura…
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The Gouda Argument Was Not My Business
November seventeenth. I went for the honey. That was the whole plan, stop at the Sunday market two blocks over from the usual route, find whoever was selling the dark buckwheat va…
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