Monky Business
I watch over my friend’s shoulder as they make mistakes and then correct them, reassured somehow that typos aren’t just a modern malady.
Ode to Subway
Subway is a communion of scattered purposes.
Some Questions to Which I Don’t Have Adequate Answers and Probably Never Will
Is there an instinctive shock response that would incapacitate any medieval monk who went on YouTube?
Where We Will Land
I never thought I would entrench myself deep enough anywhere to forge friendships with people who I don’t want to know my real name or face and whose lives I only have the slightest inkling of.
My Life, in Screenshots
I was privately affirming truths, moments I felt seen by someone who spoke the words of my heart, and serendipitous findings.
My Childhood Palate
On other nights, Dad would come out to campfires we were so fond of building, cracking open a big can of baked beans to nestle into the coals on the edge of the pit.
Oops I’m a Troubadour
It’s a pitiful, endearing, and slightly Dickensian image: two pale, scrawny siblings with oversized guitar cases strapped to their backs, walking slowly along a quiet street.
When Your Vagina Doesn’t Work—and You’re Married
Miracles are rare and precious, and the one I’ve begged and pleaded and soaked my pillow with tears and snot for hasn’t come in nearly three years—and counting.
The Non-Reproductive Church
What if there is something more important than the church’s survival?
Cohabitating My Way to Hell
My friend had just described a hypothetical scenario of someone living in direct opposition to the laws of the church, and there I was, right beside him, living that life, deserving of reprimand.
