Go ahead. Give Carla five minutes. I finished the pickles. Not all at once, but over three days, with zero guilt. And you know what happened? Nothing dramatic. The world didn’t end. My jeans still fit. But I felt seen by myself. Like I’d kept a little promise.
And right now? Carla craves. It started innocently enough. Last Thursday, at 11:47 p.m., I found myself standing in front of the open refrigerator, bathrobe on, hair in a messy bun, staring down a jar of bread-and-butter pickles. Not just looking. Craving .
What if Carla craves a crisp pickle because her body needs electrolytes? What if she craves a solo dance party in the living room because her spirit needs to shake loose the week’s stress? What if she craves a bold red lip on a Tuesday morning because ordinary days deserve a little armor? carla craves
Now tell me—what does your Carla crave today? Want more “Carla Craves” posts? Follow along for weekly indulgences, from the culinary to the existential. We’re eating the cake, taking the trip, and buying the silly socks. Life’s too short for bland.
There’s a voice that lives inside all of us. It’s the quiet whisper at 2 p.m. that says, “I want something salty.” It’s the sudden pull toward a secondhand bookstore on a rainy Tuesday. It’s the restless energy that demands a road trip with no destination. Go ahead
What do I actually want? Not what I should want. Not what’s practical. What does my inner Carla crave?
But what if cravings are actually ?
A hot bath? A long letter to an old friend? A donut? A nap in a patch of sunlight? To say “no” to one more obligation?