But maybe ironically, I’m rarely in the mood for my “favorite” albums: fixtures of music I champion as satisfying or well-crafted artistic achievements, blah blah blah. Beauty like that can sap a lot of energy.
When a man approached me in the mall food court and sheepishly asked if I had a few minutes to talk about Jesus, I reflexively smiled and said, “Oh, I’m already a Christian!” before realizing I wasn’t completely lying this time.
This song has always felt so dumb to me even before its Extreme Makeover Bieber Edition. It’s historical fanfiction undercut by that insufferable “pah rum pah pum pum.”
Mom made fajitas for dinner that night. I’ve never been so aware of the texture and toughness of food—I kept trying to gum it down, stubborn, spitting it out in the napkin, going again.
![[Found Sound]](https://thepostcalvin.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/transcription_cover.jpg)
“Have you ever been praying and all of sudden you wake up and you’re like ‘Oh I fell asleep, I was praying, sorry Jesus.’ A friend of mine said, ‘Don’t fret. That’s falling asleep on the lap of the Father.’ I’m like ‘Ha, yea, alright. Thanks for saying that.’”
We’re getting used to this: the shepherding of my distracted attention back into the air. Sitting off to the side and seeing my traffic go by.
She waddles so slowly and aimlessly on evening walks that it feels like you’re tricking her into moving forward. I swear her body’s just gotten doughier and wider while her head has stayed the same size.
