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It’s early morning, the husband is away visiting family, and I’m seeing if I can find words for the jumble of chaos clogging my mind lately. Always with the disclaimer that I’m not sure any of it makes any sense outside of my own sphere of experience, and again I wonder how to satisfy my need to communicate candidly and somewhat anonymously in pursuit of catharsis without it verging on “blogging”. And maybe I actually just don’t care.

Yesterday I spent three hours wandering a botanical garden with my camera slung on my shoulder. The site is maintained by volunteers…

Love and light, or fear and slight?

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I’m going to blog. Are we allowed to blog on Medium? I dunno. I don’t think I care. It’s been well past a year since I’ve frequented this platform, and wholly shit if we even try to kid ourselves that rules apply anymore, global pandemic and all. So forget coherence and cohesiveness. I’m not here to slowly and painstakingly sculpt myself into a writer. I’m a writer, and I’m also not a writer. …

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I smoked a little of my homegrown while soaking in the bath this evening. The tiniest bit, because it’s potent. I figured that out yesterday, when I smoked just the littlest bit more than a tiny bit in my pipe in the late afternoon and felt the littlest bit anxious and uncomfortable for a short time.

T. told me that that feeling is the need to give your energy an outlet. A reason to engage in movement. For me, that also means engaging in expression. I need to remember that. …

We can still be friends, maybe?

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The last article I published here on Medium was September 23.

19 days ago.

Not that long, really, although the so-called Medium aficionados would liken that kind of absence to creative suicide.

Forgive me if I sound a little cranky, but these 19 days away have really got my wheels turning on what I’m doing over here, exactly.

I haven’t felt compelled to write at all lately, and I have my suspicions about the reasons. The obvious one is that I’ve been busy, and I’m tired.

The Medium aficionados would say, “That’s not good enough, that’s no excuse. I write…

They’re weird, and they’re awesome.

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Growing up an introvert meant that for most of my younger days, I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. It meant making an effort not to be different.

Then, in my early 20s, I started my first grown-up job and met three ladies who would later become my closest girlfriends.

I mention these friends often because they’ve had a pretty profound impact on my life. In the 13 years we’ve known each other, they’ve coaxed me out of my shell and helped me celebrate the beauty of being different.

Over the past 13 years, this beautiful group of…

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I have a friend who struggles to understand my need for ample “me time.”

I am an introvert, which means that after a particularly demanding work day or social event requiring a steady output of energy, I have nothing left give.

I know this of myself, which is why, at times when my schedule is filled with commitments, I deliberately reserve segments of time to just be.

These breaks are crucial for topping up my reserves before the next task at hand, and I’m fiercely protective of them, even if it means fabricating some kind of explanation to liberate me…

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When the 2010 Olympic Winter Games came to Vancouver, there was lots of excitement about getting over to experience it, since — much like the turn of the millennium or 2017’s total solar eclipse — you might never get a chance to experience something like this again in your lifetime.

I was 26 years old at the time of Vancouver 2010. My sister was 24 and lived with a roommate smack dab in the centre of downtown Vancouver.

My fiance, best friend and I caught the ferry from Vancouver Island on a Friday night amid the two weeks’ festivities, taking…

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Today marks Day 10 since I started following the keto diet.

And let me tell you, my original notion of what I thought a keto diet entailed has already shifted since starting this experiment.

Let’s begin with sugar.

Before looking more closely at the specific parameters of a keto diet, I don’t think I had any clue that sugar was a big fat no-no.

It’s not that I’m a sugar addict (which is exactly what a sugar addict would say), but I like to whip up goodies in the kitchen, to finish off a meal with a square of rich…

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I ’m 35 years old, which means I’ve seen a lot of changes to the Internet since the days I used to sit in front in front of the bulky CRT monitor perched on the desk of our basement home office and wait patiently for the dial-up to complete its strange series of clicks and beeps.

I remember updating my MSN Messenger status with angsty song lyrics, discovering the original pixelated Hampster Dance and debating whether I should include the guy I liked when forwarding ridiculous chain messages from my Hotmail account.

But what really changed the World Wide Web…

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The other night my husband and I watched a new movie, Booksmart.

The plot follows best friends Amy and Molly who, during their final days of high school, suddenly realize they’ve spent the past four years focused exclusively on academics and missed out on the experience and joys of partying with their classmates.

What follows is a pretty comical (and at times sweetly emotional) escapade of trying to catch up on four years’ worth of missed high school shenanigans.

The movie made me laugh — a lot — but more than that, it struck a tender chord with me. I…

Lizzie Woo

“We’re all mad here.” Just another 30-something elder millennial writing from the heart about whatever. Oversharing is my specialty.

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