In 2006, I went to a house party. While crossing the lawn on the way back to the car, my foot caught in a lawn divot, twisted badly, and shattered bones in five places—including my cuboid, which any orthopedist will tell you takes talent. I stuck my foot in a boot and prepared to spend the next six weeks in crutch-laden misery. If only. Two weeks in, I felt a…
Today we are writing about the road not taken, a subject I like to spring on unsuspecting people at dinner parties. “What would you do if you weren’t managing hostile corporate takeovers?” I’ll say to the man next to me, and he’ll look at me like I have four heads and then mumble something about how he also likes hedge funds. On reflection, maybe my city is not the…
Giving me free rein to write what I want isn’t always a good idea. I’m likely to be a little too … uh … self-revelatory. What’s the blog-o-sphere term? “Confessional.” Oh well. Here’s today’s term: “mental health.” Uh-huh. I’m going there. This morning I had a doctor’s appointment. My doctor’s name is Dr. Darling. She’s a great doctor, don’t get me wrong, but “darling” is a misnomer. She’s not fluffy…
