I’m developing a menopause conspiracy theory because menopause has become the Area 51 of medicine with alien forces sapping women’s hormones.
Billie Best writes about the memory of scent and lusting after the body odor of humans in this time of pandemic isolation.
My search on “great works of literature about menopause” is disappointing. Why can’t I find myself in the literary canon of my time?
Thinking on the grid extrudes new information so it looks a lot like the old information I already think I know.
I was on the phone talking to an old guy and he was telling me how worried he is about what’s going on in the world. He’s 88.
I once went on a date with a spider. I was supposed to be on a date with a man, but the spider was the only thing I could think about. For days.
After 32 years of marriage I’m pretty skeptical of monogamy, but maybe that’s because I tried it and it didn’t work.