I walked into my office this morning to find this gentle reflection of the week, one lone bud that was too heavy to bloom. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect symbol.
Blooming in Our Own Time
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Stepmotherhood in Meerkat Manor
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Welcome back to Life Crisis Week here on Middle Name Brain. It’s me again, Sarah, your muddled, sometimes confused, host. As I mentioned yesterday, my lens color is tinted stepmother, and you can further deduce from yesterday’s middle-riddled theme that I do not have biological children. There is a moniker for my breed, the ever elusive “childless stepmother”. This time of...
Stuck in a Meta Middle
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Hello, I’m Sarah. I’m 35, which is halfway between 30 and 40, also arguably between the end of my twenties, a first attempt at adulthood, and the beginning of an age that sounds much more mature. I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat bookish, and if you had asked me what I liked to read a few years ago I probably would have said something like “contemporary...
Friday Flake Out: Brain Splatter
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It’s Friday, and I’ve spent much more time pondering this week than writing, but sitting here with my cup of tea this afternoon I figured I’d type at you in the nonsensical way you can get away with when blaming your waning attention span on Friday afternoon and mild exhaustion. Friday is, after all, mostly a state of mind, much more than New York, if I do say so myself.
Friday Foghorn: Facebook Heard Me Fart
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This is a true story, and I’m outing myself for the greater good. Facebook heard me fart. I have long suspected that Facebook’s advertising was intrusive, going beyond the usual Internet goings-on of search histories, and products perused. I mean, I’ve long acquiesced to the idea of cookies and re-targeting, but lately I’d started to notice that ads were popping up on my...
Stinkor and Me in the Pit at King Lear
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Last weekend, Mr. Brain and I went to see The King Lear Project, a “new” world premiere of King Lear presented in its original pronunciation. I managed to make it through reading the first three acts of the play before making it to the performance, vowing to go into it with some basic understanding of its plot just in case the language made it more difficult to follow. As it turns...
What’s in Your Grandmother’s Purse?
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The other day I was engaged in something like water cooler chatter with co-workers (minus the water cooler). We were gathered around a basket of goodies someone had sent my boss as a thank you, and included in said basket was a bag of lemon drops. One of my fellow scavengers commented that she had to have them because they reminded her of her grandmother, who always carried an infinite supply of...