How to order at a restaurant when you can eat four bites
Appetizers as mains, sharing without a speech, the two sentences I say to every server, and why I asked for the box before I stopped apologizing for the plate.
The Quiet Part
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Cooking for one third of a person
Every recipe serves four hungry adults. I cook for one polite houseguest. The casserole that died on the second shelf, the method that fixed it, and three tools worth keeping.
The day I forgot about lunch
Week one, a Tuesday, 2:10 pm, and the sudden realization that lunch had never crossed my mind. What the silence felt like, and what I did with the hour.
Twelve things I’d tell someone picking up their first prescription
If you're in a pharmacy parking lot with a paper bag on the passenger seat, here is what I'd lean in the window and tell you. No pep talk.
What this blog is, and what it isn’t
The house rules of The Quiet Part: lived experience labeled as such, no medical advice, no numbers, no before-and-after, no homework, and no obligation to tell anyone anything.
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