My Last Annual Bra Crisis

PLUS: what I'm reading lately and a spring garden update

Happy first day of spring, northern hemispheric slugs! Have you sprinkled any seeds in the dirt? Composted your crunchy dead leaves (metaphorically, but maybe also for real)?

March is a weird month here, oscillating between cold and warm, a liminal cusp, which is how I am feeling right now, too. This is the first time in two years of writing this newsletter that I have gotten stuck. Not stuck as in, no words coming out — lots of words are coming out, it’s just that none of them feel arranged quite right.

I’m getting top surgery at the beginning of April and I want to write about it — honestly I’ve reached the obsessive rumination point of anticipating A Big Thing and I’m finding it hard to think about anything else. I swear I’ve written like three drafts of a very serious, very intellectualized essay already, but I think maybe I am too much in the wound still to be writing about this experience like that yet. (You know, they say to ‘write from the scar?’ But in this case it’s like, literal?)

I can, however, tell you a silly little story about the last time I bought a real bra.