You’re More Loving Than You Think You Are
Will cried when the sentences turned to me. “I’m just going to say one thing,” he said, and he had to stop for a while. “Because you’ll know what I mean by it,” and he had to stop again.
Will cried when the sentences turned to me. “I’m just going to say one thing,” he said, and he had to stop for a while. “Because you’ll know what I mean by it,” and he had to stop again.
The bottom line, though, is that I failed at this assignment.
To get something straight, eating the same thing is boring as all hell. I gained a measure of satisfaction from it, of course, or else I wouldn’t have done it.
A few weeks ago, Grandma fell in her bedroom. She pulled a bookcase down on top of her, breaking several ribs and pushing her further down “the road” than she had been before.
My first meal off the plane, jet-lagged as I was, consisted of No. 1 Grange Road’s “Haggis, Neeps, and Tatties Tower.”
I set a few rules—my “day” on the bus would last eight hours, but would include walking to, from, and between buses.
Dear M,
I hope you are enjoying life in Oregon. I am trying very hard not to miss you. Sometimes, it works.
Throughout the service, the wind seemed to heighten our attention rather than scatter it; there could be no looking away from God that day.
I have been thinking about scorpions because I live in the desert, where dwell these hard-cased creatures from hell.
In an era of self-exploration, it becomes extremely difficult to identify who or what my self is, since it takes on so many shapes depending on who I’m with or where we are or both.