I’m not a good plant mom. I’ve killed succulents and herbs and I might be currently killing a small palm tree I have. I just can’t tell what they need from me.
I can’t tell you, or even myself, why I do certain things. Why I take my socks off every night before bed, or why I pick my fingers until they bleed. I can’t tell how I start or stop doing certain things either — how I stopped having the intrusive thoughts I had as a … Continue reading there’s a kind of magic in the force of habit.
We’re on the Grand Street station waiting for the B. David leans in, craning his neck to look for train lights inside the tunnel. “Hey,” I say, nodding toward the edge of the platform. “Don’t stand so close.” He smiles and rolls his eyes, but takes a step back, raises his eyebrows as if asking, … Continue reading please stand back