I’ve been unable to focus on anything for days, but a phrase comes to mind: “Nevertheless, she persisted.” The future, the work, starts now.
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My dad died Nov. 1, 1980. I’ve told you that and about him. This time I’ve got a story for you that few people know. Bonus fright included.
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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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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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A subdued 11th of September begins with a hope that it’s mostly quiet and brings opportunities for peace and healing, for all the reasons.
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A review of my goals at the start of 2019 is one place my tired brain landed tonight, and it left me mostly sad and depressed.
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Nineteen years ago today, Hurricane Katrina began smashing Louisiana, Mississippi and areas along and near the Gulf Coast. You don’t forget.
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Today we honor the memory of transgender people whose lives were lost in acts of anti-transgender violence.
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Young adults I know lost grandfathers recently. It’s reminded me that I’ve not had that life experience, never having felt that kind of loss.
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I’ve been having dreams about dead celebrities. Before I explain what John Spencer has to do with boxing, let me tell you a story.
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