I do not relish the words you’re about to read, and honestly take no joy in typing them. I debated about even posting. This was originally going to be much longer, but, to be honest, I don’t like talking about this topic. It tires me out.
But we have to talk about it. So please either click the image, the title or right here to read.
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The following letter to a member of my family represents unfiltered and personal thoughts. Certain details, names and events have been changed slightly to avoid any legal recourse. This is not meant to be satirical, but rather a heartfelt expression of truth.
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I prefer spending the "Holiday Season" (including Thanksgiving in this) with friends over family. Probably not a shocker to those who know me. It’s also probably not a surprise to the majority of people in the U.S who feel some form of obligation to spend time eating dinner with Uncles and Grandparents that, if drunk enough (though not necessarily), will more than likely say something racist.
For a while now, I’ve been pondering why the "holiday season" irks me. To discover the depths of this irking, you gotta check out the post in its entirety over on Medium here or by clicking the title or the image.
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After I found my voice in an after school poetry club in 8th grade, I embraced the weirdo label. It usually made people laugh. I was proud to be a teenager who loved black and white movies, quoting bits from comedians and wearing bright, almost neon pants to school and lime green or cherry red suits to the high school dances.
Click on the title, image or here to read the rest of the story on Medium.
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“Janus said to hurry up.”
This is one of the earliest sentences I remember writing. It’s also one of my earliest memories. I don’t remember if it was in fourth or fifth grade, but I do remember this writing assignment where everyone in the class had to write a story using indirect speech. This meant quoted dialogue had to peace out, instead having to write as if someone was reporting, or watching the events unfold.
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