For a few months now I've been following on Instagram a woman who left her country to live in the U.S. Each time my feed opens with her name my heart leaps a little as I prepare for the next rise or fall on the roller coaster that is her life. Her recent posts include delightful quotes about men who lie or turn out to be less than she expected, and I find them interesting to read. And I cringe. Dating is tough. I still remember the days of wondering if he liked me as much as I liked him and doing whatever I could to gently let down the ones who liked me more than I liked them. No one really enjoys hurting someone's feelings, but that's all part of the game. When I see these types of posts on my feed, I want to grab this woman and hold her and tell her to follow her path. What I don't understand, though, is the pressure we place on ourselves and other people as we go through this process. We scrutinize every detail of every conversation and text and facial exp

Sigh. Today was my last day at work for this school year. This was a rough end of the year, and I came home Tuesday completely exhausted, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I did what any reasonable person would do and ate an entire deep dish pizza (except for the two pieces Winnipeg managed to steal) and half of a carton of peanut butter ice cream. It reminded me of this poem I wrote several years ago. In my food induced coma, I decided I needed something more. Running was out of the question because my stomach was too full for that level of rocking and rolling. I needed to do something productive. I needed to finish a quick, simple project that would let me feel like I accomplished something. I opted, instead, to try out my new power tool. A chain saw. A real life chain saw. I've never used a chain saw before, but I think I am addicted to the rumble of the motor. Forcing myself to control a favorite murder weapon in horror flicks felt amazing. It purred. It hummed. It shook the