I think about writing all the time. When I’m in the metro. When I’m cooking. When I’m in the shower. Writing is my biggest, most consuming obsession and I know it will never fade because writing is who I am, among my many other selves.

My ex-Londoner nostalgia has gone too far. My kid now has a John Lennon haircut circa 1960s1 (merci Alex!).

I have a theory. Public declarations of romantic love on social media means the relationship is on the rocks or someone needs to be forgiven.

Last week I dreamt I was in a horse-drawn carriage parade at Buckingham Palace. It was a worldwide televised event and instead of waving to the crowd I was busy eating poutine. I called my parents from the carriage because that’s what you do when you’re in a parade. “Hello Mom and Papa? Quick! Turn on the TV! I finally made it.”

What do you think the dream means?

Everyone has secret internet behaviour. Mine is researching UFOs and facelifts.

I also dreamt I was Demi Moore’s plus-one at the Oscars. I kept trying to take a selfie with her for Instagram cred, but Nicole Kidman kept getting in the way. Like she didn’t want me to be Instagram famous or something.

I think that specific dream means I’m either a loser or that Nicole is possessive.

I’m a slow reader of everything except for memoir (I love life gossip). I’ve been slowly enjoying I Do Everything I’m Told: Poems by Megan Fernandes and Poor Artists, a novel by Zarina Muhammad and Gabrielle de la Puente.

Re: my primetime television Buckingham Palace dream. I think it means I’m meant to be a star. Or that I need horse therapy.

My husband keeps telling me we’re leaving the house soon and if I want to wash my hair before I leave, it has to be now. I’ve got 10 minutes. But I want to stay here, on this very line.

(AN UPDATE FOUR DAYS LATER…)

I washed and dried my hair in 20 minutes. Not bad considering it’s the longest it’s been since 1987.

I read a quote by Mary J. Blige the other day and loved it:

“Unfortunately, a lot of y’all met me when I lacked boundaries and was a people pleaser.

Let me reintroduce myself. I burn bridges as needed.”

I can’t stop drinking virgin Caesars adorned with dill pickles.

Nine hours of sleep is what I need to feel brave enough to burn bridges.

Is writing really who I am?

Yes. And more.

Here’s a poem I wrote on my phone while commuting to work:

Thank you for your enthusiasm re: last month’s newsletter. I’m still navigating what it means to work full time, take care of a family, take care of myself, make art in private and in public, live in this chaotic/scary/beautiful world, etc., which means this newsletter might be sporadic for some time. Going with the flow…

Some of you also reached out about my poetry collection project, and your encouragement is much appreciated! Merci!

I’m off to wash my hair again.

Take good care and see you soon.