Pain, pain, pain, complain.

What do you call a writer who doesn’t write? In my case, you could call her a gardener. Except, I don’t do much gardening either. Bits and pieces here and there, which is most of my life these days. A bit of this, a bit of that. It’s not that I can’t stay on task…… Continue reading Pain, pain, pain, complain.

Sneaky science: tears and congestion.

I tend to leak tears when I’m angry, upset, or frustrated: it’s one of the most annoying things about being female. It even trumps the random black hairs that periodically show up on my chin. [i] There you are, making a point about something you’re passionate about, presenting a rebuttal or holding your space when…… Continue reading Sneaky science: tears and congestion.

More props for the mundane: we need to stop it with that.

I still get props, and I still don’t like it. I mean, on the one hand, props. On the other hand, props? I think I’m ambivalent because the praise isn’t for world-stopping thighs or brilliant prose. It’s for nothing in particular, in fact, and relates not at all to anything special. That this is not…… Continue reading More props for the mundane: we need to stop it with that.