The Kids Are Alright
The clever phrasings, the lilting harmonies, the bone-soaking sadness, the hard-earned joy—it fills me up with the subtle satisfaction of uncertainty.
The Conservation of Energy
I glean donated furniture after things that mark some kind of unraveling—an estate sale, a move, a downsizing. I’ve begun to think of my work as a conservation of energy.
Snowbound
But the snow does not fall only on the ill-prepared. It falls on 4.0 students, kids flunking every class, and overwhelmed first-year teachers alike.
Wild and Free
A serving of oatmeal eaten straight out of the brown paper package gets a five out of ten stars when eaten in my kitchen, but eleventy-twelve stars when eaten atop a mountain.
Toilets, an Autoethnography
My fondness for toilets began in first grade when I staged a protest in the Jackson Elementary School girls’ bathroom. I objected to recess, of all things.
The End of Things
Things are always ending and beginning, simultaneously and separately. It’s not that an end leads to a beginning—an end is a beginning. They are the same.
Homecoming
I miss the energy. The companionship. The routine. I miss the rah rah school spirit and the constant activity and the sense that I was always accomplishing something (seemingly) important.
For Sale: Huge Dead Fish
I am going to window shop for a while, wish that I knew what to do with a giant dead fish so that I could say I bought a giant dead fish, and then I will go and buy some delicious tacos.
When My Parents Visit
They’d gasp at the dishes stacked in the sink in my apartment, and my mom would chide me about how I hadn’t bought any fresh kimchi for so long.
Seeing Staci
I didn’t say anything. Not yet. But I was getting drunker. Not off the single beer I had to drink, but off the flood of potent memories over our last eight years of friendship.
