No Use To Us
We walked a few blocks from the museum to find food (unreasonably passing on a café whose window quoted Jay Gatsby: “Well, he’s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town. . . .”).
Hunger Games 2: Catching Mediocrity
The film, Hunger Games: Catching Fire, followed the book decently, but they added a brilliant (Read: horribly irritating) element: excessive screaming.
Free Time
There is a freedom to being a child that I will never experience again. There is a freedom in being aware of time but not fearing it. There is freedom to not feeling guilty about doing nothing.
Thanksgiving Lies
Normally, I hate lying. I prefer honesty and the rewards and consequences that come with it. But I was loving this kind of deception.
Come (cont’d)
I love the way Advent meshes with the changing seasons in my Northern-Hemisphere home. The air takes on a crisp chill and the scent of snow. Dark comes early and the nights are the longest of the year.
Death, The Narrator
But Death, as in the narrator of The Book Thief, would not enjoy such a tune, at all. Cancer, cancer I hate. Death, the narrator, I love. Death the narrator is comforting, pleasant, desirable.
Waiting
What could be more beautiful, I thought, than to break bread with the person who almost ran you over? The wolf will live with the lamb, and a little child will lead them.
Object Permanence
A sample list of my previous collections, presented chronologically: heads of Lego people, Beanie Babies, wristbands and tie-dye t-shirts, and music CDs (and books are a given, right?).
Come
And she’s a whole lot better at waiting—or, at least, at proclaiming what she’s waiting for and what she expects. I try to drown out the world. She tries to make it see.
A Simple Mistake
I don’t know if I’d say that I gave them hope, but I maybe helped them back to the path to realizing that there is some hope in life. At the very least, I eased their burden for a little while.
