A personal blog about the small daily friction between who you are and everything around you. Honest, slightly literary, sometimes funny, occasionally devastating, never a wellness tip. New essays most Sundays. subscribe, if that sounds right.
It's the dad in the noodle commercial. It's never the friend's actual divorce. A theory about distance, another about shame, and an apology that arrived eight weeks too late.
There are forty-one unanswered texts in my phone right now. I am not avoiding them. I am also not not avoiding them. This is the philosophy of maybe, applied to friendship.
The 8:47 auto-rickshaw didn't really say no, but it didn't say yes either, and somewhere inside that ambiguity I had to live for the next eleven minutes.
My phone has been telling me my own name is wrong for three years. I keep correcting it. It keeps correcting me back. Somewhere in here is a parable.
A man cannot stop adding things to a shopping cart he will never check out. The site begins to add things back when he removes them. The site has theories about him. He has theories about the site. Only one of them is right.
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