It’s been two months since the Big Breakup Heartbreak and less than twenty-four hours since the Little Heartbreak. This isn’t some sort of “my one true love has been stolen from me forever” heartbreak, because I think you have several true loves in your lifetime: people who teach you things like how to steal diamonds, […]Read More Little Heartbreak
This is the list of things to do when you find yourself heartbroken, or bored, or depressed, or lonely, or hungry, or slightly (or extremely!) constipated: 1.Write about it. Write in your journal until your wrist hurts and you worry that you’ve developed carpal tunnel or arthritis or gangrene or leprosy. Then crack your wrist […]Read More The To-Do List
Back when I was a delusional college student, I used to dream about becoming a professional partygoer, like Tila Tequila, minus the tequila and the whining. I was enthralled by the idea of getting paid to attend parties and make the parties cooler. Here’s the thing. Even in college, I hated parties. I don’t like crowds. […]Read More Now What?
I stopped writing after the election. I didn’t write my morning pages. I only wrote poetry when I had to, which was once every other Friday for work. I didn’t touch my book. I couldn’t even look at my blog. I mean, no one else was looking at my blog, either, so I didn’t feel […]Read More Our Voices Matter
I turned 26 last Friday. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, but Whitney! You don’t act a day over 12! Or look a day over however much younger you would like to look or act! Thanks, reader. That makes me feel really good about myself! I DON’T look a day over fetus. I spent my […]Read More 26 is The New 25
It’s like Asimov’s I, Robot only less fun and the movie adaptation would star Michael Cera in drag as me instead of Will Smith as the lead guy. I’ve been exhausted lately. Not post-blood clots nap time exhausted, but so tired that I actually have to lie down or I will pass out. The fatigue starts behind […]Read More I, Hypochondriac
I have tried to sit down to write this post like a zillion times and then my Anxiety Voice kicks in and gives me the sweats. Like this: Hey, Whitney. No one reads your blog anymore. Literally, no one. You’ve fallen from your position as a recommended humor writer and everyone thinks you suck because […]Read More You’re A Writer, Aren’t You?
Hey, you guys! Quick confession: I’m one of those people who used to have/still struggles with/occasionally kicks the ass of an eating disorder. I used to compulsively weigh myself and take my measurements several times daily. It was like I was looking for proof that the Chipotle burrito I’d annihilated was taking root in my […]Read More My Fitness Tracker is The Devil
I was sitting on the couch next to Atreyu playing spider solitaire–oh my God, I didn’t realize the hilarity of that until this moment–when I glanced down at my cleavage… Stop judging me. I am wont to do that sometimes, as I assume lots of ladies are. Or maybe I’m special because my brain feels […]Read More Conversations With Anxiety: Eight Legged Freaks
Things No One Tells Anxious People About Owning Their Own Home: Buying the home isn’t the expensive part. I mean, yes, it costs a lot of money and the down payment is scary and the mortgage is this looming paper mache monster (made out of bills, obvi) that looks like the sand dune at the […]Read More The Neverending Panic Attack Story