I’ve had a cough for the last three months.Coughing isn’t a customary occurrence for me. Neither is having any sort of illness linger for so long.
Part of the problem is that the cough, if one can be said to be such, is largely asymptomatic. Which is to say a cough is all I have: no sneezing and sniffling of a cold, no aches and pains and lethargy of the flu.
Even the doctor says there’s nothing pathologically wrong with me.
Mattel’s new “Fashionista” line of Barbies
This disbelief could be interpreted in a number of different ways, each a bit more biting and backhanded than the last (you don’t seem feminine enough to have been interested in dolls; to look at you, I’d never guess you played with a doll that was so connected with fashion).
Most likely, though, it’s a puzzling discrepancy that draws folks up short: I care a great deal about diversity and representation in popular culture, yet in that regard, Barbie has often earned a failing grade.
The scene at a recent square dance in Vancouver, BC.
This was a good six or seven years ago while I was attending a canoeing skills camping weekend retreat with a group of friends. I’m as outdoorsy as the next person, but not specifically into canoeing.
Rather than a desire to perfect my J-stroke, I recall my decision to tag along having more to do with FOMO and, if I’m to be honest with myself, the possibility of meeting new people (read: single guys) since the present object of my affection – who was also in attendance and a skilled canoeist – couldn’t care less about me in that way.
I’ve always been drawn to, for lack of a better term, the darker side of Enya.For almost 20 years, the Irish, New Age singer has enchanted the world with her lush, solo melodies – songs that celebrate the wonders of the natural and celestial worlds; the siren call of adventure; the strength of the human spirit in withstanding adversity; the thrumming heart of love in its myriad forms; and the wonder and mystery of God.
The Eiffel Tower with its lights extinguished to honour those killed in the recent attacks
I was 17 years old at the time and on a trip to London with my father and his lady-friend to visit my uncle – my dad’s brother – and two cousins.
As a writer, I’m very concerned and interested in the language I use, both on paper and verbally.
Part of the reason I’m such a slow writer is because, for me, every sentence is a search not just a word, but the exact word – the word that conveys the precise sentiment of what I’m trying to express.
I love summer – the warm weather, the less restricting warm-weather clothing, the lighter, brighter warm-weather attitudes – but it also causes me a big problem.
Staying hydrated.
Unfortunately – regardless of my 6+ daily glasses of water – I’m the sort of person who’s easily dehydrated.
Image by @lovely_free_bird
I don’t even want to spend all my spare time writing.
The reason for this is because writing is far too solitary a pursuit – the loneliest of all the arts in my opinion, due to it possessing the least impressive and share-worthy interim stages.
Old World architecture in the French Quarter
Part of this was through my own negligence: as per usual, I can be quite gung-ho about actually purchasing plane tickets to given destinations, obsessively checking travel sites, scrutinizing fares, and generally wheeling and dealing my way into a good enough rate.
However, once my credit card has been billed and the all-important travel points accumulated, my preparation and enthusiasm dies off significantly until such time as I actually set foot on the ground. To wit, I signed out three different New Orleans travel guides from the library and had to renew all three no less than five times (each renewal comprising a period of three weeks).
Summer is the best season there is. This may be my personal opinion on the matter, but I do believe there’s some degree of universal truth to it as well: the weather is warm, the days are long, people are friendlier and happier, and the clothing is less encumbering.
A Frame Around Infinity 