Really Good, Actually

by Monica Heisey

At home alone I ordered Night Burgers, browsed rental listings, and had nightmares about Jon’s parents telling me I was a bad person before morphing into two girls I’d worked with at an ice-cream store the summer after ninth grade.

the studio where I had begun attending a restorative yoga class since learning by happy accident that it was basically structured lying down.

A hobby seemed less confusing, and the sixth tip, “Get a Therapist If Needed,” did not apply to me.

The only activity that has ever really interested me is sitting around with my friends in flattering lighting, eating food and talking about who wanted to kiss us, and what we were wearing when they

The church was soothingly grand, candlelit and cavernous, with that nice Roman Catholic smell (you can’t say much for the institution, but they do have a nose for incense).