My theory this week: As an emotional eater, my fat actually captures all my sad/angry feels, encapulates them, and deposits them on my ass, rendered inert in their little fatty bubble. This is why food is comforting — got lots of rage and sadness? We need fat molecules STAT to
Despite being sure about the therapy thing, the comments suggesting it have stayed with me. It’s empowering to defy popular opinion and flounce, to define myself by what I’m not going to do. The main problem, is that if I’m not going to therapy, I have to take responsibility for
Got a chance to sit down with my dad over the holiday. As words grow more difficult to pluck out of his brain, he’s becoming a master at charades. It might be sad, except he’s so gleeful to have outwitted dementia, he grins like a kid at summer camp as
I was a living, breathing mousetrap over the holidays – ready to snap with the slightest provocation. I didn’t mean to be that way. I was cool as a cucumber while packing, Zen as fuck on the drive. Opened the door to my sister’s house, and my eyebrows climbed into
For over seven years, I’ve lived with small dread of accidentally writing the wrong name in an Anne Nahm email. Many of the comments came in last week with my real name written in them. Opening each and every one was like that dream where you fall, flailing armed and