I got sober. Life got big.
Elijah Muhammad with Malcolm X. No, it's not random. Patience! Read the post! (Also: isn't Malcolm so handsome?) At some point in this pandemic I lost the ability to carry anything lightly. It's never come easily, has always required effort; yes, I've worked hard at lightness. But now there's no fighting it. Seriousness has descended…
The asterisk above is because after I labeled my last one Day 1,917, Belle commented that she had it as 1,931. She's way more likely to be right than I am, so I'm adjusting. It's actually the second time in the history of Off-Dry that I've realized the day count was off. You wouldn't think…
Last week I was seated at a dinner next to a woman who's writing a recovery memoir. When she found out I'm a published memoirist, she had questions about how I'd structured my book to make publishers like it. "Did you put the message of yours up front?" she asked. "Or tell the story first…
For several years I've been in this life phase called "friends keep adding me to secret menopause Facebook groups where women gather to share information, vent, and validate the living shit out of each other." I hate it. Sure, at first I was game. I'd jump in and introduce myself and start reading posts and then…
It's New Years Eve afternoon. I'm at a coffee shop working on a commissioned essay about small matters like marriage and sex and desire and monogamy and how I'm a natural at three out of four. The writing is going...not great, okay? Plus I just ate a pretty disappointing croissant and the little boy behind…
