It’s all the other things I could have done that will haunt me.
I have a thing about crowds. I do not like them. I especially dislike malls and can’t go in one without going a little bit…
I jokingly tell people I was raised on ABBA and Confederate camp songs. But it’s not untrue. I would say my musical upbringing was….weird, if not very weird.
Even in my memories, I find myself importing today’s realities on ancient and archaic ways of communication. I imagine I texted my friends in college to meet me for dinner or called roadside assistance when my clutch went out. But I didn’t do those things.
I feel that I’ve improved (but not fundamentally changed) this core family tradition. And to my family, I only have one important thing to say here, and that’s, “You’re welcome.”
Finally, I’ll just say this. The book is really a commentary, too, on how power works in our day and age. Who has it? Who thinks they have it? What does power really look like?
I don’t have a lot of favorite sounds. In fact, I’m easily distracted by chewing, clicking, beeping, tapping, and more. I find myself agitated at…
In high school, I started to dream a little bigger. I don’t remember why, but I decided I was going to run Disney. NBD.
There’s something jarring about a person betraying his brand and stubbornly sitting in that broken promise like it’s who he’s been along. It’s an act of self-betrayal before it’s an act of any other sort of betrayal.
I worry about the kids growing up in this. I’m worried they’ll never know what it’s like to sit quietly in any given moment long enough to dwell on good, true, and beautiful things, whether they are comfortable or uncomfortable.
So, I guess this is a travel story about dead people. And how my best friend and I like to go on journeys together to drink with them.
There’s a piece of furniture in my family that’s almost become sort of a character in our stories. It’s terrified little girls and beat up little boys. I don’t know if it’s got a heart, but it’s definitely got soul…
When I think of seasons, I think of Cummings and the inevitable, ordinary passing of days. And it reminds me that I’m just a human like other humans (down they forgot as up they grew). I was born, and one day I’ll die.
I used to have a very good habit of writing every single day. But that habit escaped me years ago, and this is my first…