As someone in this stage of life, I would describe it as both invigoratingly free and crushingly intense. It's a mix of really good and really bad mixed in with just enough mundanity to make you feel like you're wasting your life.
Communal living is making a comeback, but when people find out I live with my in-laws, I get a lot of different reactions, from pity to horror. People simply can’t understand why—or how—my husband and I do it.
We learned the hard way that we could burn it to the ground, but making this choice showed us that we could also make it what we wanted it to be.
Some other party members were foolish like me, others had good ideas but rolled poorly, but no matter what the characters tried to do, it did not go well.
I’m learning how to do things for myself. With no one watching, no one counting on me, just…doing it because it needs done, because it’s part of being healthy and happy and successful.
All I ask is to be left alone, left to enjoy camping trips and days in the park, unimpeded by the many-legged hell-spawn of my nightmares.
Whenever I put on my combat boots and layer a chunky sweater over a sundress, I hear a little voice in my head all day long that says “Fuck yeah, I am providing a valuable service because I have a marketable skill.” You just don’t get that vibe from your underwear (or maybe you do, in which case, kudos).
I thought Good Omens might prove just a little too sacrilegious for my taste. Turns out I was wrong. It is exactly the right amount sacrilegious.
The robot apocalypse is already beginning, I can tell, because when I went to Best Buy to look at laptops, I felt guilty every time I wandered away from the Lenovo section.
I get to hang out in a bar with my friends once a week, and I roll sparkly pink dice to determine if I successfully shoot a demon through its nonexistent heart, which is exactly the kind of femme fatale shit I’m looking for. But as a writer, I’ve noticed that my personality is not always overly compatible with D&D.