I know too much about apples.
This time last year, I was working in an apple packing warehouse for three and a half months. Before that, I worked for three months as a farmhand planting lettuce, napa cabbage, celery, and silverbeet.
In 2020 I lived in Queensland, Australia, where I was trying to make some money and get a visa extension (which requires working-holiday visa holders to complete 88 days of regional farm work). For context, my coddled ass had never worked outside a day in my life. I’ve had hard jobs, but never like this.
Before I moved to…
I am one of 1.5 million Canadians that moved back in with their parents during the pandemic.
In October 2020, my mom sent me a text that worried me. It wasn’t her usual probing, “Hey, it’s been a while…can we talk?” text. It had an urgent “don’t ignore this” undertone.
I wasn’t always great at maintaining communication after moving away, but I called her right away.
I was afraid someone in my family had COVID-19.
I wasn’t expecting my mom to say she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She didn’t know how bad it was, but it was there…
Before I turned 26, I lived in two different bachelorette pads and worked from home for 85% of it. Then I moved to another country for a year, came home and now I’m living with my parents. COVID-19 suplexed the global economy, so shout out to my parents for taking me in while I try to get back on my feet.
Do I miss walking around naked and rearranging my furniture at 2:00 a.m. when I couldn’t sleep? Yes. Do I miss living in my lonely filth and fruit flies? No.
There’s an unspoken financial privilege in living alone. …
It started when I closed my laptop. I fell into an internet rabbit hole that began with reading an in-depth breakdown of Ariana Grande’s relationship with Pete Davidson and ended with Davidson’s Hot Ones video.
Two hours? Three? Four? It’s late, but not so late that if I went to bed right now, I couldn’t still get up early and do it all over again. I question if I want to put tomorrow off and disappear back into the internet for a few more hours. I sit on the couch in the dark, unmoving.
I notice how quiet my house…
For the first time in three years, I have a boyfriend.
For the first time since I started dating, I feel at peace in a relationship.
I almost didn’t write this piece because there’s a part of me that’s worried.
I don’t want to upset the delicate balance of the universe that’s allowing me to be with him. Will putting the words out into the world threaten to topple it over?
I hope not. I keep thinking it’s only going to be a matter of time before the relationship collapses in on itself. Surprisingly, it hasn’t.
I’m still here. He’s…
I lost my creative courage.
I can’t find it,
So I can’t share my writing.
This isn’t the first time it’s left.
My creative courage is a dog.
I can’t seem to keep it in the yard.
I notice it’s gone when I call,
And it doesn’t come bounding back.
I curse myself for not putting my dog on a leash.
When my creative courage leaves like this,
I hope the
Words, desires, and urges,
I don’t put up lost dog signs.
When my creative courage isn’t around, it’s not the same. I don’t want to…
I was on birth control for over eight years before I took my first break.
I began with oral contraceptives. For seven years, I struggled to take my pill at the same time every day. I set alarms on my phone, tried to associate the task with other habits and put the pack where I couldn’t miss it. Even after all my attempts and a reason to be motivated (if you don’t take the pill consistently, it’s less effective), I still forgot to take it all the freaking time. My spotty adherence was enough for me to explore my options.
I watched the movie Blue Crush for the first time recently and ugly cried.
Watching people surf brought up so many feelings. It caught me off guard.
I learned to surf while I was living in Australia in 2020. Now, I’m back in the middle of Canada where the air hurts your face.
I love and miss the ocean, hence the tears.
I still sucked pretty hard at surfing by the time I moved away, but that’s unsurprising. …
On January 29, 2019, I decided I was done with drinking. I didn’t hit rock bottom. I never brushed my teeth with Jack Daniels (thanks, Kesha). I wasn’t a lost cause or liability. I didn’t go to Alcoholics Anonymous. I have some sad/scary drinking stories I could share, but they’re cute compared to what I’ve read in memoirs.
People often assume when they find out I don’t drink that it’s because I went off the deep end. This entirely ignores the other reasons I wanted to quit, and there are many.
There’s alcohol use disorder on both sides of my…