What happens when the version of yourself built on pushing, adapting, and reading the room starts to fall apart? Anita 3.0 is still buffering, somewhere between who I was and whoever comes next.
Some nights, figuring out what to eat feels like one decision too many. This is my very real, very repeatable stovetop popcorn supper for tired-brain evenings.
Sometimes a certain smell, a stretch of prairie road, or the way the evening light falls can make you sixteen again. A little story about peaches, first freedom, summer nostalgia, and the songs that came from it.
