Holidays, Privacy, Death, Moving Forward
I’m writing this on an airplane while people read over my shoulder. I figure if I’m going to post it on the Internet, a couple of strangers can preview the free-flow gibberish as it comes. I have no commitment to this writing thing. No one asks me for a made up time sheet or a 5 year plan. I don’t even post half of the things that come out because they read like crazy talk a week later. Plus, once I commit to something, I’ve been known to go too far. And then people walk at me sideways. I’ve been closing out the year in such a positive mental space that I didn’t even think about the impending warfare that is the holidays. So it was in this state, in my synth-consumed naivety, that I received a call from my sobbing mother. She asked me if I could go pick my father up from work. My uncle had shot himself. It’s not the call you expect. It’s not the holiday I would have been preparing myself for, had I thought to do...
