It's the fourth week out of five of our Zoom writers' workshop, and I've finally gotten used to the rhythm of my Wednesday nights. There's my teacher, in New York City, the sweet nerdy man from

Bob Dylan concert. Of course, Bob Dylan.

I return from a trip to Florida over the long weekend with my high school friends to my writers' workshop. We were in Miami to celebrate our collective 30th birthdays, and hit all my favorite things

I add “Ripple” to the playlist and cry, imagine her cradling my broken body the same way I held her own: like it was the world’s rarest treasure. Like I’d never let go.

The next day, she threatened to slit my throat in the dead of night, said my sheets would run redder than every last cunt in Orange County.

HOW COULD SHE POSSIBLY KNOW? How much her words would affect me?

Freshly thirty and newly heartbroken, the second class of our writers' workshop found me at a very midlife crisis time in my life. On Monday, things ended with the man I thought I might

I couldn’t help feeling they abandoned me in our womanhood when it wasn’t their stop.

I arrived to England in a puddle of mortal pain caused by a breakup.

The distractingly beautiful former beauty editor asks me whether I've read Yoga by Emmanuel Carrere, which I have. "Why are you only asking her? Is this a gender thing?" Our teacher feigns offense.

You can measure out your life with coffee spoons and you can measure it by the way someone starts an email.

This has been a bad date that ended with a bad blowjob.

Cincinnati radicalized me.

In the meantime I will leave the box of mac and cheese I bought to keep in my pantry, just in case I need to feed you, collect dust.

You were never going to let me, a Hindu atheist, walk down an aisle, in front of your parents to “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” (ok, my fantasy).

Last week I arrived in Montreal with no particular address in mind.

It was August 26th and my lease started September 1st. A more intelligent being would point out that there may be a problem with

I. xaxaxaxa
I don’t consider myself esoteric or mystical, but while tidying my desk I found a little square
sticker with just the number 8 on it; I think it fell off the new t-shirt I was

At last, I texted him the truth: I have bipolar disorder. I’m in a hypomanic episode. I’m really not feeling well, I can’t stop crying. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry...

i am the leader, the captain, the general of my troops, and yet it doesn’t matter much to me whether i win or lose.

She underlined the quote, “Anything can happen in life, especially nothing.”

I imagine the letter got stuck somewhere in the desert, and some camel ate it.

My recent ex was extra, but in a way I couldn’t quite explain. Sure, she had all the traits of a malignant narcissist but so does almost everyone I know.

You HAVE TO MOVE!

I recently started my third year of university. In my first year, I lived in the dorms and got acquainted with the people who just so happened to be experiencing their Firsts at the same

All I have every week is nothing but free time but I won’t tell the twenty-one-year-old that.