There’s a way to start off a school year, and then there is the Heather B. Armstrong way.
“You must have loaded the gun. You knew where to put the bullets. And how to do whatever you need to do to get a bullet in the chamber. And then actually decide that this is it. That you are done.”
Ten years ago you saved my life. My friend is helping me to continue to pay it forward.
Because I can’t and won’t be done talking about it. Another hat tip to Kelly.
Guilt is a pretty useless, ineffectual emotion. Guilt is not what I feel when coming to these realizations. In fact, I feel duty.
Peter Frampton was for Marlo. This… this was for Leta.
Yet another first for my child who is drawn to books and art and writing elaborate fictional stories in a summer replete with physically breaking free.
When someone describes the culture here as “sometimes a little weird” this should help explain that a bit.
Here I am talking about farts and I am not happy about it. Not one bit.
The triumphant return of stuff and can I just say that since the last one I posted the Internet has gotten even weirder.