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Every year, around my birthday, I freak out. Often, it’s about my failings, anxiety about my crushing ambition, but mostly, it’s about my inevitable death. My Thanatophobia is why I bury myself in books. Bound and bracketed texts comfort me. Ernest … Continue reading
Cheryl Strayed is a badass. I picked up her memoir, Wild, because of her association with Lidia Yuknavitch (they work together in a writing group with Chuck Palahniuk), but also because the premise: lonely girl, grief-stricken and recovering from a … Continue reading
I’m afraid to die. Terrified, actually. My parents think it’s because I’m an atheist. Though, I was terrified when I was a Catholic too. As a kid, I couldn’t shake the idea that I was going to be trapped inside … Continue reading