I find it strange that never once in their daily conversations does this all-knowing God suggest basic empathy as a possible course of action.
Tag: creative nonfiction
Even though women are supposed to be the superior multitaskers, I can’t figure out how to let her go, catch her, and take a picture all at the same time. Being a widow is hard, but sometimes, being an only parent is harder.
The booster has been running through my veins for about ten hours. I cannot mentally move things, change things, or create things. I have to still do work. What a sham.
We have no business going into space if we haven’t figured out a cure for depression. Honestly, I would think that, once the cool factor wore off, existing in a boundless expanse of nothingness would only magnify feelings of insignificance, loneliness, and emptiness.
Day 2 – Kujichagulia – On this day we pledge to define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves and speak for ourselves.
There are no Kwanzaa presents. Yet, in the spirit of defining myself, I buy a bottle of grapefruit tequila, a new sweatshirt, a recliner for my bedroom, a new book. I am determined to cultivate a tiny corner of comfort for myself.
One of the challenges of being a nonfiction writer is that you can’t tell half of your friends when you’ve finally gotten published. They probably did something stupid and you spent several weeks worth of your time and talent judging them for it.
How many of these cardio classes do I have to endure before my depression is cured?
“Oh, did you have a cheat meal?”
Nope, I was eating my feelings. Loyalty had nothing to do with it.
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.
I once asked my dad why he backed into parking spots when we went to church. He kept his eyes forward as we walked from the back of the parking lot to the church’s front door. “Quicker exit,” he said, and I think about this as I pull into the parking lot at work and watch the side mirrors as I back myself into a corner spot.