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In the Dream House

“The Dream House was never just the Dream House. It was, in turn, a convent of promise (herb garden, wine, writing across the table from each other), a den of debauchery (fucking with the windows open, waking up with mouth on mouth, the low, insistent murmur of fantasy), a haunted house (none of this can really be happening), a prison (need to get out need to get out), and, finally, a dungeon of memory. In dreams it sits behind a green door, for reasons you have never understood. The door was not green.” — In the Dream House, Carmen Maria Machado

Loved list: 2020 💖

Welcome to the loved list for 2020, a partially reconstructed assortment of recommendations of things to watch, read, listen to or otherwise explore that were shared in my newsletter throughout the year.

In praise of platonic intimacy

As we stand on the edge of another national lockdown, there’s a lot of things I’m finding hard. But one of the hardest is how much I’m missing a certain level of intimacy with my nearest and dearest pals.

More comfortable being in my body than numb: a second sober birthday

It’s my birthday this weekend, and we’re in lockdown, so the celebration plans so far involve takeaway, homemade cake and rewatching Hackers for the millionth time. Which, y’know. Pretty good. Here’s another thing: this will be the second birthday I’ve spent sober.

Let me write you letters

Babe, I want to write you letters. I want to write you letters because it’s a one of the most direct and authentic ways I know of for us to keep in touch, one that can’t be limited by Insta algorithms or caption character counts.

Jane Claire Bradley