It has already been two years and I have never once written about it. There are six blank pages in my journal that I had skipped over, intending to fill the lines with details of what happened that night and the emotions that walked by my side through it all. But there is still nothing. I am angry with myself over this because I feel I have failed him by not telling his last story- how brave he was, how beautiful, how strong- and how I watched it all with a keen eye and a hunger to remember it for him. It is the only story he is unable to tell. Continue reading
For today, a list of loves:
Hot tea. And hot cocoa. Any hot beverage, actually.
Mourning doves on the balcony.
Mint chocolate chip ice cream.
The sound of peepers in the spring. Continue reading
This article of 18 pages and double columns has become my mortal enemy. (Why are papers published in double columns anyway? Are they trying to torture us?) The abstract glares me down and I return with my own narrow-eyed stare of death. 9:45 on a Thursday night and neither of us wants to be here. This is not going to end well. Continue reading
It’s that time of year again. The one where I start getting restless- gazing longingly at my suitcase, watching travel documentaries, and scouring the library stacks for anything by Freya Stark. How inconvenient. School has barely begun and I’m thinking of anything but digital curation and appraisal methods. Instead, I’m starting a Pinterest board (God help me) and swooning over pictures of Plovdiv and Malin Head. Continue reading