While I’m no modern lifestyle guru, I have in fact noticed the frequent use of the qualifier “minimalist” as an antecedent for many of the current “hottest trends.” (And yes, I do realize I sound like a middle-aged white mom as I type this phrase.) Recently, I’ve heard friends and acquaintances a
I was invited to a bar crawl this past weekend. Though I love Charley’s, The Brown Jug and Rick’s, the thought of going to each in quick succession made me anxious. I tried to do a quick mental calculation of how much mixed drinks, beer and cover from each bar would cost me.
Last week, I got my ear pierced. I had wanted to do it for several days before, to change up my look — to try something new. There was, in other words, no larger, existential reasoning behind this desire, no deeper truth I thought a piercing would illuminate or help me enact.
Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever stared at a blank Word document for so long. Is this why so many writers go crazy? I could be doing something productive right now — like sleeping. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to think of anything to write about.