Written on the back of my hand
September was a delightful jumble
Stop talking so much to the children; stop giving them constant instruction.
What if you cared less about time?
Is there a way to bottle September and early October? To make the days last longer? To preserve it and have it somewhere, to open up and take a whiff of in mid-January?
Mulch the front beds and weed and stop being so lazy about it; you’re an embarrassment to your mother and to the neighborhood.
We were not made in its image but from the beginning we believed in it not for the pure appeasement of hunger but for its availability it could command our devotion beyond question and without our consent and by whatever name we have called it in its name love has been set aside unmeasured time has been devoted to it forests have been erased and rivers poisoned and truth has been relegated for it we believe that we have a right to it even though it belongs to no one we carry a way back to it everywhere we are sure that it is saving something we consider it our personal savior all we have to pay for it is ourselves
Most interesting things I’ve read online lately
aka things I will probably try to talk to you about, so consider this your fair warning
On childbirth, consent, coercion, and power, In Pursuit of Clean Countertops
Parenting as a public good, Works in Progress
The evolutionary mystery of menopause, Nautilus (alt headline: Grandmothers Saved the Human Race)
Kick the Latch, Kathryn Scanlan
Allergic, Theresa MacPhail
Directions to Myself, Heidi Julavits
The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa