My little corner of the internet has been sitting here untouched for a few months. I have a million reasons, and none at all. I suppose starting and stopping, and restarting, isn’t exactly an atypical progression. Since I wrote this about being stuck, I’ve sort of come in and out of the stuckness, much like stepping on a wad of gum. You think you’ve scraped off all the...
Disclaimer: I am not seeking to illegitimize anyone’s experience with PMS or menstruation, nor I am not a doctor or mental health professional. I am simply trying to explore my own thoughts and confusions surrounding what I perceive to be PMS. I’m expecting my period to begin in a few days, which puts me in that window of time darkly forecasted with a slightly distended abdomen, an...
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.
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...
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...
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.
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...
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...
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...
“Shelley Hack jumps out of a Rolls-Royce and strides confidently down the streets of New York City in a kicky pantsuit, embodying all the freedom and confidence of the women’s movement with none of the baggy clothes or scowling.” – We Were Feminists Once (Andi Zeisler) I recently started reading Andi Ziesler’s We Were Feminists Once, and by “started reading” I mean I’ve almost finished the...
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