In my recurring nightmare, I am actually moving. I am running as fast as I can. But, despite my best efforts, everyone is passing me.
Good God, signing up for a 5k might have been a huge mistake. It feels like the equivalent of purposely going onstage and attempting to perform a piece that quit rehearsing weeks ago or jumping out a window because I once had a dream that I could fall far better than I could fly.
You eat the macaroni and cheese you think you deserve. This is not a judgment against people who choose boxed over baked, but I do believe that they could learn to love themselves a little more.
But this is a job issue and that makes it a money issue, which is precisely the type of thing I could take to the God of the prosperity gospel.
When will the amnesia set it? When will the many tears I shed be replaced by feelings of nostalgia?
But I hate feeling like I am just one more writer with confidence issues. It’s so cliché and uninteresting.
No one understands my students’ cries of unfairness more than I do. At my current rate of income-based repayment, I will be able to pay off the loans from my bachelors and masters degrees shortly before my 92nd birthday.
Yes, God may love you, but if he was even remotely concerned with your happiness he wouldn’t have given grasshoppers wings.