Our house is a mess of misplaced possessions. I’m grateful for what this — and my son’s autism — has taught me.
Only twice have I felt a connection so strong that self-consciousness fell away. The first time was with an emu.
We barely spoke. He didn’t charge me. I’ll never forget it.
I spent my childhood longing for my father, who disappeared after I was born. Then my mother found him in a brochure.
After months of sheltering at home, 18 cohabitants on what so much togetherness has wrought.
If this were real life, I would have ended it. But this was no longer real life.
Not since The New York Post said I was dead have so many friends and lovers checked in on me.
It’s hard to argue with the results.
She wanted to connect without the cost of connection. Enter the rock climber.
It’s a relief or a nightmare, irritating and liberating, and already, for many, interminable. This is living alone in a pandemic.