Eating a hot, dripping honey butter biscuit from Whataburger while listening to a completely transcendent interview with Ocean Vuong. He and I are not the same species, I think, brushing greasy crumbs off the jeans I’ve worn for three days and crying at a story he tells about his mother.
“Back to work” for the fall semester before it feels like summer has even begun. {Where am I? Who am I? Who are my students? Who moved my cheese?}
Smelling a candle called Madrid at Midnight in a depressing Tennessee craft store.
A bumper sticker that reads “POWERED BY B*TCHDUST” in Disney’s cheerful font.
Unexpectedly unearthing tender letters detailing a life and love that no longer exist. {Aren’t we always, technically, engaged in things that won’t endure? Let’s not think about that.}
Grandly designed, completely deserted fairgrounds.
The lush crescendos of violin a man plays in the Target parking lot for impatient masked strangers.
Joy and gratitude that can only be described as unconquerable.
Even now? In 2020? After all this time, says Dumbledore?
Maybe it doesn’t make sense — but it can’t be helped. Thank God.
Jotting Julie 