Today I saw a Confederate flag hanging in the front window of a small house in upstate New York. The house looked tiny and dirty. It was unpainted, and the light from the small window was completely blocked by the flag. It must be really dark inside.

Sometimes life is like herding smoke—I can barely contain it, and I’m in constant pursuit of order and control. Other times it is like breathing in at a bakery—everything sweet surrounds me. All I need to do is inhale.

R. moved into the basement apartment nine months after I moved into my mine. I first noticed her dog, which barked whenever she wasn’t there. Which wasn’t often—as far as I’ve been able to tell, someone is always in R.’s apartment. R. R. doesn’t look that old, but she behaves like she is. She is white with a small grizzly dog that, unlike her, is elderly.

Soup is one of the great unsung heroes. In my life specifically, but also life in general. Sometimes I don't even consider ordering it when I'm out—I'm sorry, soup. I am seduced by avocado toast and goat cheese salad and forget that you have stood faithfully by all along.

I defrosted my freezer this weekend. I have been putting it off for months. I duct taped a hair dryer to the top of the fridge, and the whole process went smoother than I could have hoped. This was the first time I used my hair dryer this year. It was also my proudest moment of the week.

I keep thinking about Grandma’s letter. Did she really address and stamp an envelope to each of us ten grandchildren? Or did she only send it to the offenders and just make that sneaky comment about “you know how you are” to send us into psychosis?

Today I opened my mail.

I don't do this often because the mail I receive is not interesting or important. If it is important, I take note of the sender and then deal with whatever they need on the internet.