The Essays — Finding Hiraeth

A woman with a blonde bob sits on a dark hallway floor at night beside a partly open door, a sleeping red doodle curled against her. Warm light from the room beyond spills across the floorboards in the rough shape of a heart.

Am I Freaking in Love with My Therapist?

July 18, 2026July 18, 2026
The Map

Am I freaking in love with my therapist? That was the sentence. Not once — for years. It arrived without permission and it did not…

Cartoon in a warm storybook style: the woman at a table opens a heavy official envelope with a broken wax seal and "Committee on Nature & Nurture" letterhead; the visible letter reads "Pending Since Antiquity" and "Do Not Reply." Five folded paper airplanes labeled Memo #1 through #5 rest in a stack on the table, a mug reads "Data Don't Lie," and a framed sign says "There Is No Rush On Truth." A curly brown red doodle sits beside her. Banner: "Findings enclosed."

The Committee Responds: Findings Enclosed

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

After five memos and a century and a half, the Committee on Nature and Nurture finally replied. Then I went to the hearing in person. The two are not the same report — and the gap between them is the whole finale.

Cartoon in a warm storybook style: a reddish-brown red doodle in round reading glasses sits at a desk in a dim records office, one paw on an open ledger titled "Field Reports, Volume ∞, Canine Division," an old typewriter beside her and boxes of "Service Record" files stacked around; a mug reads "Every Detail. No Spin." The woman stands softly out of focus in the background doorway. The dog wears a "Canine Division" tag and looks directly at the viewer. Banner: "I have been present for all of it."

Nala Files: A Field Report from the Control Group

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

I have been present for all of it — every hearing, every service record, every panel of this publication. Someone has finally asked the control group to comment. A field report from the one instrument in the house that was never adjusted.

Cartoon in a warm storybook style: a room split down the middle — one half sweltering with a sun, a desk fan, and a mug reading "Too Hot," the other half frosted with icicles and a "Too Cold" corner — while a flustered woman in a rose top stands between them; a wall thermostat is spun wildly past its maximum, and a dark office door behind her reads "Hormone Resources — Restructured." A curly brown red doodle looks up, concerned. Banner: "Management restructured without a memo."

The Thermostat Wars: Management Restructures Without Issuing a Memo

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

For most of my life the building ran its own climate control and never asked my opinion. Then, without a meeting or a memo, management restructured. A field report on the thermostat that isn’t broken, the department that dissolved, and taking local control.

Cartoon in a warm storybook style: a kitchen where the crisis is clearly over — a plate of half-eaten toast and a mug reading "No Smoke. Just Toast." — while an entire wall of smoke detectors shrieks "BEEP!" at once; a woman in a rose sweater covers her ears, and a curly brown red doodle sleeps peacefully on the floor. Banner: "The fire is out. The alarm didn't get the memo."

The Smoke Detector Is Not the Fire: A Field Report from the Department of Alarms

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

There’s a smoke detector in my house that has never once been wrong about smoke — and never once been right about toast. A field report on persistent pain, the over-vigilant alarm, and the difference between silencing an instrument and recalibrating it.

Cartoon of a courtroom-style Nature vs. Nurture hearing: an elderly man at a NATURE podium and a woman at a NURTURE podium shout across a Department of Certainty seal while researchers hold Control Group Data binders; a sign reads The Mat Is Not a Gene and a red doodle dog sits as Sergeant at Arms. A mock dictionary entry at the top defines ethereally.

The Mat Is Not a Gene: An Ethereal Submission to the Nature/Nurture Committee

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

No one who knows me would ever label me sensitive. That was never a missing instrument — it was an industrial-grade override, installed early and running, at full strength, for fifty years.

Cartoon of a street lined with identical Training Facility storefronts, each sign in a different language, under a banner reading Same Results Guaranteed — Est. Antiquity; a woman holds a sign that says The Signal Is Not a Sin, a sandwich board reads One Manual. Infinite Locations, and a red doodle dog sits beside her.

Born Sinners or Born Sensors? A Second Ethereal Submission

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

Last time I called my family’s training facility a business. I’ve checked the records and issued a correction: it was a franchise — same floor plan on every continent — and its operating manual says the child arrives defective.

Cartoon of a woman comparing two books — a joyful scrapbook labeled The Good Trip with sketches of mountains, castles, and gelato, and a gray binder labeled Incident Log listing Load Signaling, Fluid Security, GI Local 002, Vestibular Affairs, and Small Fiber Postal — while a red doodle dog in an Auditor cap reviews the binder with a magnifying glass beside a note reading Patterns Don't Lie

An Organism Abroad: Two Trip Reports, One Traveler

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

I took one trip this June. I came home with two trip reports — mine, and my body’s incident log. The season finale, in which all five departments discover they were writing the same memo.

Cartoon of a body's internal mail room with pneumatic tubes labeled Skin Press Cleanup, Gut Back From Strike, and Ankles Liquidation all marked Out of Order, a dispatcher holding an envelope reading Urgent Reduce Load, a clerk holding a sign reading The Courier Is Not the Message, a tiny nerve courier with a bicycle beside a sign reading Last Open Route Between the Toes, and a red doodle dog in a Signals Inspector cap examining the toe mail slot

The Courier: My Nervous System Delivers Mail to the Worst Possible Address

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

An itch that ignores the obvious treatment isn’t a treatment failure — it’s a redirect. A field report on toe-mail, wrong tickets, and reading the letter instead of blaming the address.

Cartoon of a frazzled dispatch clerk in the Load Signaling Department holding a sign reading The Skin Is Not Being Dramatic, beside a switchboard with lights labeled Heat, Sweat, and Sealed, while a printing press labeled Publish to Surface prints a complaint report checklist ending in Unfair, and a red doodle dog naps wearing a tag reading Sun's Out Naps On

Unit: SKIN — The Department That Publishes

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

The heart complains internally. The gut complains to management. The skin publishes — front page, full color, font size WELT. A field report on hives, greenhouses, and reading the signal instead of shooting the messenger.

Cartoon of an anxious hormone middle manager named Aldosterone standing on a desk holding a memo reading Air Is Thin, while kidney workers hold a sign reading The Ankles Are Not a Warehouse and a red doodle dog drives a forklift labeled Forks of Fate toward the Ankle District

The Cankles Accord: A Hostage Negotiation at 10,000 Feet

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

I was having a transcendent moment in the Alps. My ankles were being converted into a regional distribution center. A field report on fluid logistics and flawless bodily logic.

Cartoon of an intake desk clerk stamping Rerouted on a package labeled Sleep while holding a sign reading Your Manual Is Not My Manual, as a dejected pill in a suit watches and a red doodle dog sleeps on a mail cart tagged One Nap

The Benadryl Paradox: When Your Body Reads the Label and Laughs

July 16, 2026July 17, 2026
Somatic Field Reports

The label said drowsy. My body handed it an espresso and a to-do list. A field report on paradoxical responses and the sanctity of an n of one.