But sometimes I am lonely, so lonely that I can’t take this solitude as a gift. It feels embarrassing or unfashionable to admit this, that after almost a year, I feel untethered and empty sometimes, even despite support systems and good friends.
We had been bearing all of these trials patiently enough, however, until the day the toilet started belching. I want you to imagine what that must sound like, and after you have, I want you to imagine me hearing those sounds alone in the apartment—which coincidentally, did not contain a plunger.
Regardless, it’s foolish of me to believe that a panda can be anything but cute and cuddly. If I fail to see and acknowledge the less-than-cutesy aspects, I remain in a state of partiality and partial truth.
Although Christmas in June is not an actual tradition, you’ve been good this year so I want to reward you with the gift of silence, and Nick Offerman.
It’s all part of the character, that character we’ve all met at some point or another: so-called professionals who are no good at what they claim to be at, like a magician who can’t hide a card.
By the end of the night, the musician had burned himself out, Ed was snoozing on a table in the back, and a thirteen-year-old girl who’d somehow snuck in was able to snag a selfie with “the Michigan Boys.”
It’s not always easy chasing after whichever field God points you toward, especially if the words “vile” or “sordid” sometimes apply.
I know adults aren’t easy to trust, and teachers least of all, but please trust me. Trust that I know what I’m talking about, even just a little bit. Trust that I might, on occasion, be right when you’re wrong.
If you are looking for a powerful, enlightening, and comforting essay about the devastating loss our community suffered on June 12th, 2016, I cannot find the words for you right now.
What I really want the smiling broadcasters to say is that there is no silver lining. This is not an opportunity or a warning call or a new beginning. It is an ending, and endings should be mourned.
