Gone Girl and Protest
We have to rail against injustice and doggedly lament evil. We have to mourn and cry out and punch the air and scream that this is not the way things are supposed to be.
We have to rail against injustice and doggedly lament evil. We have to mourn and cry out and punch the air and scream that this is not the way things are supposed to be.
But if that’s true, how long will it be before we stop riding the train of mere suspicion and arrive in the new, dim empire of total social, political, and spiritual agnosticism?
As we took turns praying, my father, mother, and brother would say a special prayer for me. Hearing them say sentimental things about me was embarrassing, but I tried to keep my eyes shut.
…yell things like “Heyyyyy Burrito!” to which we would yell “guacamole and cinnamon twist!” get up to swing a couple dance moves, then continue to eat our raisin bran as if nothing had occurred.
I’m not sure what the secret is to knowing you’re in the right place or on the right track. I’m not sure there is one. The song helps to remind me that it’s okay not to know exactly what I want yet.
I simply cannot call something finished, whether I’m re-checking a final exam for the fifth time or strategically placing a seventieth sprinkle on a Seurat-inspired Christmas cookie.
What if I told you there is a way to travel through time instantly using only items you already own? What if I told you that you probably already time travel several times a week?
I want to defy convention. Break molds. And at the same time I want to be with my husband. And have children. And bake lots of cookies. And I hate shoveling the driveway.
I fill a basket with crisp lettuce and Swiss chard. A raspberry finds its way into my mouth. I close my eyes, breathe deep, and finally feel my shoulders relax.
A herd of cows killed a hiker in Tirol. This might not seem newsworthy, but the hiker was German, which necessitates at least a small degree of suspicion of foul play.