Monday arrived and Guinea Pig was back to his involuntary waking hour. He felt refreshed. Much better, in fact, and this, he knew, was not a small thing but a signal. Sleep, when it had done its work properly, did not merely restore the body. It restored proportion. It returned the world to scale. As…
What Drains a Day It began, oddly enough, with Holi powder and wet hair. On the screen from Bengaluru, Ritesh was explaining that what he and his wife had used was not really color in the watery sense. Not the sort of thing mixed in water and thrown around in buckets the way many childhood…
We often speak about energy as if it arrives or disappears in large, obvious ways. A good night’s sleep. A difficult week. A holiday. A deadline. But in daily life, energy is more often lost quietly. Not through catastrophe, but through accumulation: the clutter that keeps asking for attention, the conversation that lingers too long,…
Sunday had not begun well. Guinea Pig had slept badly. The reasons were not entirely clear, though several candidates were circulating in the background: work, the persistent voice of Doodle Horse somewhere in the back of his head, and the growing suspicion that his internal batteries had been operating on reserve for longer than was…
He overslept. He got up at half past six instead of at his usual involuntary hour between half past three and four. But then the evening before had run later than was wise. He had been working on a report, and the mind, once engaged with duty, is not always disposed to release itself at…
According to the weather service, we are in for a wet, cool Autumn. Our usually sunny town has decided to try on a new personality—one that is grey, gloomy, and “cloudy with a chance of thundershowers.” I’ve mentioned before that it feels like I’m living in London, but this week, I’m convinced I’ve actually moved…
Rod Stewart, rogue pluckies, sticky notes, and the radical act of putting your phone in jail. And we were live. Hooray. Episode 37. And before we got anywhere near blocked gutters, indoor waterways, or the philosophy of decluttering, the Mayor decided that the moment called for something grand. Not sympathy. Not concern. Not even a…
Some mornings are for rushing, but the best ones are for coffee and quiet. I’m an almost 36-year-old mom currently attempting the great Olympic sport of juggling: work, home, school, a husband, a son, and the beautiful, messy blur of life in general. For some time, I’ve shared daily quotes and Bible verses on Facebook…
Some lunch conversations begin with big philosophical questions. Others begin with back pain. This one began with Rosie trying to sit comfortably. “Hello Rosie. Can you hear me?”“Yes… I can hear you now.” And just like that, the table was set. The Morning Begins (Whether We Like It or Not) Rosie arrived with a brave…
Fruitloop and Sarah turn a simple catch-up call into a surprisingly practical masterclass on staying awake, staying kind, and not letting TikTok steal your sleep. Sarah doesn’t enter the lesson like a robot with a notebook. She arrives like a real teenager at the end of a semester: cheerful, slightly tired, and still half in…
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