I call her Squash. As in, she squashes my confidence. Also, no one would ever name their kid Squash. She’s not a kid. She’s a nag of a narrator who lives in my head. Squash is always with me, whispering in my ear. But instead of sweet-nothings, Squash...
I wake up at 2:30 a.m. with a thought. It’s not about all I have to do when my alarm goes off just three hours later (though I do think about that often)… It’s not about whether I left the stove on or the garage door open (though I sometimes obsess...
They show up without warning and stay too long. You’ve probably hosted such an event, unintentionally and reluctantly. And yet, it’s hard to show them the door. Because there’s no obvious exit when the venue is in your head. Let’s set the scene: Where: My...
