To the three people who visit this site, thank you! And sorry for my absence. I’ve been busy killing shit at wok while dealing with some grade-A fuckery. As Bitmoji Me would say,

I came home the other night and started furiously typing away my work drama. Two hours later, I wrote a nine-page manifesto. The plan was to post it to my LinkedIn and get fired in spectacular fashion.

But I didn’t. Maybe I’m too scared to play with real fire. Continue reading →

There are nights when I hold her close, her heartbeat against mine, the intimacy of our bond so deep, the tenderness so palpable that all I can think of is this. This moment. This soul. This love. This, I whisper to myself, is the meaning of life. Also—and this part I don’t whisper, I just know—this mommy is really high.

I’m not sure when I became a pothead. In fact, I’m not quite sure what the definition is. For me, it’s a few hits of the bowl, a few nights a week. It’s my release from daily drudgery, my descent to Zen. It’s my time. Except it isn’t.

There’s something about marijuana that makes me want to lie in the grass and find dragons in the clouds. Or linger in the kitchen, admiring my husband refill the dog bowl. Or curl in bed, reading every story of my daughter’s princess adventure book, nuzzling my nose in her hair until she falls asleep.   Continue reading →