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Let It Snow

In other words, despite my litany of previous posts to the contrary, Advent may yet find me sneaking into back-row pews and singing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.”

An Apostate’s Epistle, Vol. II

Well, we both know how that worked out in the end, and suffice it to say that both of us know that I am never going back, except for with my family on Christmas and Easter. Apostate as I may be, I am not a bad daughter.

In a Day or Two

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope for an afterlife like that—one where everything is shiny and my partner and I look like we’re thirty for the rest of our lives.

Dairy Air

I had all but given up on existing in a sweet-smelling world for the foreseeable future, but then, I remembered something miraculous.

I Can Just Be Here

“Oh! Like ‘Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,’ except with bits of conversation. Without, like, any sort of context or link in between?”

Of Mice and (Wo)men

Three days later, an industrious little nibbler gets into my bag of white cheddar popcorn. We stash our remaining food in Rubbermaids, bleach everything, and riddle our kitchen with even more mousetraps.

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