Maybe it was the caffeine, but my inner prism caught the sun, a rainbow arched through my chest, and my heart tap danced. I’m doing okay, I thought.
I’m stuck in a surreal bending of time. My calendar is empty for the rest of my life, or at least until this situation sorts itself out, which I now realize could be many months. I shudder and focus on the things I can control, like setting the microwave for Continue Reading
I’m cooking a lot, eating three meals a day at home, mostly rice and beans. My taste buds are bored, but my intestines are thrilled. This is my new normal.
After my husband died, I realized I needed to downsize and start over. But I didn’t want to. My stuff was my history, my identity, my nest and my friend.
I feel like my aging from 40 to 60 was an achievement, a master class in change management. In those two decades I earned my PhD in me.
Now we know Ben Franklin was wrong, the time is money formula fails to factor in both the benefit of happiness and the cost of unhappiness.
Apparently phone addicts get hooked on the repetitious movement of tiny images and lose control of their eyes the way a junkie loses control of her limbs.