silent story | 06.23.2013









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because envy will never fill us up. or, RADICAL SELF-LOVE.

Please, please stop coming up with sugary words to replace “skinny”. If you’re actually going to comment on someone’s weight (as if that were ever appropriate in the first place), just be direct about it. It grieves me to read women commenting on other women’s pictures: “You are so tiny!” “Such slenderness!” “Your delicate frame is gorgeous!” “Look at how small your waist is!” I honestly want to comment back, “Who gives a shit?” or “Why are you making this picture about her weight? This woman is a beautiful creature in so many ways, and all you see are the pounds she doesn’t carry, as if that’s what makes up an admirable enough quality to be worthy of your praise?” But no, really…who gives a shit? I wish someone would tell me that my eyes have a rich and earthy shade of brown. I was born with these eyes, you know. Or that they like the sound my voice makes, or that my comfortableness in my own skin is emboldening, or that they can hear hope on the tip of my tongue. ...
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scotch eggs and punsch, what?

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On the 24th of last month, I took a very last-minute flight up to New York City to see my Lawrence, who was in the area for work. We went to The Dead Rabbit . Great story behind that place. They're a grocery and a grog, which is twice as nice. Scotch eggs had been on my list for almost a year, so when I saw them on the Taproom's menu, my decision required no thought. It came with its own mini jar of Colman's Mustard, which is a lot of Colman's mustard, I would quickly learn. You don't know what real mustard is until you've tried it. And that's no lie. I paired the egg with Swedish Punsch, which was probably highly irregular. Most Brits probably order beer with theirs. But cocktails are my weakness, so I couldn't resist this concoction: Batavia Arrack Van Oosten, lemon sherbet, lemon juice, ginger, Lapsang Souchong tea. Scotch eggs remind me of The River Thames, because at some point I wrote a bucket list item that involved both the eggs a...
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mornings where you feel every second

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Do you know how on the nights before weekends you think how dreamy it'll be to sleep in? How you'll let the sun gently wake you as if it knows what's best for you? I am always conflicted on those nights, because on the one hand I know I've gotten too little sleep the whole week through, inevitably, and the extra sleep will help me to feel rested for the first time in five days; on the other hand, I don't know when enough is enough when it comes to sleep. I never wake feeling rested, regardless of the amount of sleep I've had. And I always wake up regretting not waking up earlier. So weekend mornings are controversial events I get to look forward to about four times per month. What I'd really love to do is wake up early on a morning for which I've pre-planned no obligatory meetings or chores. To linger between the stark white sheets, and scootch over to the cooler side of the bed. That is a clear feeling, cool sheets. Then I'd slide slowly off the ...
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