Monthly Archives: January 2020
myhappysnails.com had assured me: “There is no smell in the place where snails live in.”
Each week during the prayers of the people I make a mental inventory: do I know anyone who is ill? Anyone who is grieving? Anyone job-searching, traveling, celebrating?
In other words, though our memories and fantasies are more silhouettes of sensations than sensations themselves, past, present, and future all look more or less the same.
People have been singing to each other since approximately Forever B.C.E., and I think there’s a reason.
It’s a road trip to New York and it’s eating cookie dough until you’re sick. It’s a rejection email from a job you don’t remember applying for and it’s winning free fries for a year.
What is it like to have your life swallowed up in someone else’s epic?
Mana, spell slots, pocket monsters, and midnight showings are all these worlds ever need.
I’ve kept revisiting the fact of Jes’s sickness, worrying it as I would a loose tooth, over and over again, in one essay after another.
I find myself erasing paragraphs from my drafts in which I apologize for writing it at all.
Discovering each new piece of her was a treasure only surpassed by the next discovery. It did not take too long before she agreed to make our relationship official.
While the myth of the lone genius is dangerous for the successful artist, it is absolutely cruel to the aspiring artist.
I didn’t like my room when I first moved in. It didn’t have Flynn, for one thing.
There’s a warm spot on the floor in front of the refrigerator—my favorite spot to think.
You’re not supposed to say yes to everything these days. I know.
Inside these walls, we aren’t robots.
Inside these walls, we are artists.
The reasons for rock’s indifference towards indie’s old hegemony are several.
Bodies fail our expectations; that is what it is to be embodied.
Dear Supportive Friends, Middle School English Teachers, and Madcap Coffee:
Anyway we walk quickly because it’s cold and I say, “I’m thirty!” but I’m also fourteen and twenty-one and making all those mistakes.
As Smith, Buber, and Gerwig remind me, we cannot be fully actualized people to everyone we meet
Another holiday, another rustling through my luggage of words to find poignant answers for the question.
This is the grace of God: that in our darkest grief and our most motionless despondency, He continues to move.
As the instruments strain and build, the chorus is repeated again and again, and her intimate scene-setting folds into a recollection.
Hope does not exist in a moment; we must create hope.