I originally started this blog to promote my novel, Post Rock Limestone Caryatids. Now I write essays and poetry about everything, including the Flint Hills, healing, parenting, etc. WARNING: emotional content, sometimes intense. Read at own risk of feeling.
Okay, I get that control is an illusion. I get it. What I want to know is why some people get to live whole lives comfortably in that illusion while every freakin minute for me is a testament to the raw reality that every day is a train wreck, and you’re lucky, really, truly, inestimably lucky, if you live through it, and wake up breathing the next day? Why is this my job?