cringeworthy puerile drivel

Hello. It’s been four years since my last post. A lot has changed, too much to cover it feels like. I’m remarried. I have a daughter, Norah, who will be four months old on Tuesday next week. I live in Joplin and teach uninterested high school students about old English literature.

This blog was something I was maintaining in my previous life. It has occurred to me that a new post here might show up for some of the members of my old community, and some of those bridges felt thoroughly burned four years ago. I feel at peace though, and no longer feel the same resentment I felt then.

This place is mine, and I need to continue here. Thoughts of Norah have brought me back. A life is filled with imperfections and mistakes. Some of them will be recorded here. So be it. My dad passed away two and a half years ago last Saturday. He died on a Monday morning in early March. That week the weather broke from winter and was beautiful and warm. Since then my mother has been slowly reclaiming her life and her home and in the process coming across the written scraps and fragments of a life lived. The evidence is undeniable. He wasn’t constant or unwavering. He vacillated. He had his infirmities. We all do.

It has been running through my thoughts lately that I have amassed enough “written scraps” of my own – digital and otherwise – by the age of 32, that by the time I leave this earth for good my daughter will have a great deal of cringeworthy puerile drivel to wade through. Yes, it would be wonderful to appear on record as stalwart and resolute, but let’s face it. I won’t.

She’s sleeping here on the couch next to me. Perfect, sweet girl. I love you. Please never count that among my contradictions.

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