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I Honestly Didn’t Know I Had Sweat Glands There.

Be in the moment. Be in the moment. Beinthemoment. 

A single droplet of sweat carved a lazy trail from the top of my shoulder to the crook of my elbow, meandering across spring freckles and around fine hairs until it dropped unexpectedly, as though it felt close enough to the ground to just let go, and landed with a splat onto my purple yoga mat.  Read the rest of this gem…

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This Is A Post About Breasts.

I looked at myself in the mirror and assessed. As we do.

Not terrible, I thought, which is much kinder than I usually am to myself. My 32-year-old body has never borne the burden of birth and so, for the most part, while things might not looks as fresh as they did when I was 22 and I’m certainly not as thin, most pieces are still in their proper places. Mostly. Read the rest of this gem…

To WIT.

The city appeared newer than I’d expected.

Sodden and gray in its refusal to quit winter, I thought most of Boston’s buildings might be brick and colonial — not sleek and concrete. But modern monstrosities dwarf the stunted historicals as towering testaments to the industrial age. And somehow, interestingly, it works. Read the rest of this gem…

A Life Preserver.

Yesterday I was mad. I didn’t take the time to work out, I was disappointed with how I handled something for my job, and Justin left me way too many dishes for me to clean after dinner. I deserved to do nothing further that night. Read the rest of this gem…

A Public Apology to E.L. James.

I’ll admit it.

I’ve given E.L. James a very hard time.

Not personally, mind you, because if I knew her personally I’d probably be too busy asking her about her favorite brand of lubricant and just how far she actually took her research Read the rest of this gem…

I’m Bringin’ Casual Khaki Pants Back.

“No one likes you, and you’re going to die here.”

The whisper came at my back, hard and fast, while I was sifting through assorted boxes of chips in the closet-sized storeroom. I whirled around to see Lloyd,* resident oddball and prep room aficionado, silhouetted in the doorway. Read the rest of this gem…

Everybody Hurts: How NOT To Deal With Rejection.

“You have to build a brand!” they keep telling me.

“Blogging isn’t about what you do — it’s about the personality you convey.”

“You’re not selling your stories. You’re selling YOU.”

When I started Domestiphobia nearly 5 years ago, I didn’t realize I was entering a life of prostitution. Read the rest of this gem…