There are too many places for my addled brain to land as pieces of memories of Souther and his music float back to me today.
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I wonder if I am one of thousands, maybe millions, who have had this thought. Isn’t that the point, though? Wondering if the joke’s on us?
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My health and ADHD and late-night work schedule being what they are, checking things off my to-do list can be challenging.
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How we ever got our stories into the hands of our readers is sometimes beyond my ability to comprehend.
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It’s a real thing that so many people think of themselves as the default for human being, for American, for a person.
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Not everything will be on the blog, and I am still working on how to send email notifications for some posts but not all.
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The headline, I’d imagine, is its own content warning, but let me be clear here: This is about suicide and suicidal ideation. It’s about me.
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The horrific nightmares I am having are only a taste of the nightmares that await if the next few months don’t go well.
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There is a part of Jackson Browne’s “Doctor My Eyes” that seems to seek me out and find me from time to time. It found me just now.
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