I’m not sure why, but I woke up the other morning thinking about a piece I wrote last November about a conversation I had with my mother a few days after that goddamn election. The piece was originally published in Lit Angels by my writing instructor (and omg, my friend?!), Francesca Lia Block. Anyway, I wondered if maybe it would be worth it to record an audio version of the piece to send to all of you, and I’ll tell ya, reading this vulnerable little beast into a microphone turned out to be a tough experiment. Lotsa tears. Lotsa, “I better re-record that part—my nose sounds swollen.” Lotsa, “Wow, I would give anything for an afternoon with my grandparents.”
So, here it is.
And I hope you’re all ok.
And yeah, there are like, one or two parts where it sounds like I’m about to cry because I am (I do do that, y’know).
And if you aren’t in the mood to hear about death, Tr*mp, or moms, then, well, you can skip this one. I’ll still love you.
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