I Don’t Know, You Guys

18 Jan

I just returned from the desert where I attended, for the sixth time, the Miss America pageant. This is how I feel about that:









I don’t talk about my work much because, well, I don’t think it’s as interesting as all the other weird shit I do / see / think. But.

I am about to turn 29. I am awake in the wee hours of the morning. I wonder, despite all the first world riches I have, if I have somehow…erred. There has to be a moment that lead me to this moment, yes? And as lovely as this moment is—I am warm and a calico cat sleeps close to me and I just ate raspberries with my fingers. They soothed my throat—is this it? I don’t know if this is the life I was supposed to live and I am ashamed that I even question it. I don’t know that I will realize my dreams in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I do not know if I deserve to have dreams. But I promise you, I am never going to the Miss America pageant again.


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