“Mute Notifications”

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Three hours doesn’t sound like much. It’s a film. A long bath. The time between putting Mattew to bed and finally falling asleep myself on a night when my brain had decided it wasn’t done with the day yet. Three hours is nothing, in the abstract. In practice, when it’s the distance between you and…

The thing about a good evening is that it makes you want a second one. Which sounds obvious when I say it like that, but at the time it felt like a discovery – the specific surprise of waking up the next morning and realising that some part of me was already looking forward to…

The argument was about remote work, which is, I think, the most thirty-nine-year-old-divorced-woman thing I have ever fought with a stranger about. Not a celebrity scandal. Not politics, even, not really – just an opinion piece that had drifted into my feed claiming people were “less committed” if they worked from home, and I read…

If you’d told me at thirty-nine that the happiest part of my day would become a notification sound, I would’ve laughed in your face. Not because I was bitter. Just because I had already packed that part of my life away. I had a son who needed soccer cleats every six months because apparently children…