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With Gratitude.

Next week, most of the United States will be sitting down to dinner with friends and family, all in the sake of gratitude. They will toast the things they are thankful for, and then likely go brawl with each other in the stores looking for the best Green Friday (that’s what retail workers have to call it) Deals that make the trip and the lost sleep worth it. It’s the American way.

Since Mom passed away, I’ve meditated a lot on how she saw the world and how I can benefit from that point of view. People from all across the world will tell you that there is benefit in grounding yourself in a place where you feel compelled to say “thank you.” Business people, religious leaders, home makers, all share the same opinion on being grateful. For that reason, I like to live in gratitude every day. Since we’re celebrating an occasion, allow me to share my reasons to be grateful:

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Story Time: Bombtrack.

I consider myself among the fortunate few that I can say I’ve only ever had to experience one bomb threat in my life. It’s not an event that I care to repeat, but it’s something I can tick off of one of those Facebook life event pissing contests, or try to one up someone’s story at a boring party.

[DISCLAIMER]: This is how I remember everything happening, some of the details might be a little fuzzy or mistaken — please feel free to contribute and correct me at will.

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Daylight Saving’s Time Can Kiss My A**.

[WARNING]: A.P. is in a little bit of a mood, as would anyone who spent the last six months getting their circadian rhythm used to one thing only to have some asswipe on the news tell you that it’s time to change your clock, so there may be some foul language and unpleasantness.

I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to put Daylight’s Savings into action, and frankly I’m too drained from lack of restful sleep to find out who the rat bastard was, but be rest assured: if I meet you in the afterlife, I am going to shove a clock so far up your butt that you’ll taste time instead of the rainbow when you eat Skittles. It’s 2019 — we have electric cars, Artificial Intelligence, and phones with calculators that all of my teachers swore I’d never have on me. Surely, we can take ten minutes, unbury our heads from our asses, and agree that it should be the same time no matter what month of the year it is, right?

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Happy National Author’s Day!

Holy S^&*! We have a holiday?! That’s awesome!!! …I’m still scheduled for work? But that’s okay! We have a holiday and we should be celebrating! That’s right folks, November 1st is National Author’s Day!

Who should be celebrating? Um, everyone! Do you have a favorite author? Have you ever written anything? Do you hold yourself in high esteem as a writer? Do you hold yourself in low esteem as a writer? Grab a party hat and let’s get some noise citations!

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STORY TIME: A Body’s Constellation [Halloween 2019]

The waiting room was white; the walls, the furniture, the decoration, the floors. The entire room was so sterile and virgin that the only surface that seemed real and tangible was where the tears had fallen and not yet dried. The rest of the room was more like the pulsating shades of light than a hard surface where life could occur.

I sat in a chair that was neither uncomfortable or soothing. I had business to attend, unfortunately, it was the same business that the eyes that had spilled the evaporating tears had. I wished I was alone, perhaps I could have had a moment to prepare myself in the form of getting my emotions out. I imagine that I didn’t let myself break down for the same reason that the small family that sat in the room across from me did: my grief was none of their concern, nor was theirs any concern of mine. It’s a strange sensation, knowing that a near identical experience is happening across the room and being so enveloped in your own experience to not offer the same comfort that you craved. We’re a strange species, human beings.

“Mr. Miller?” my name was called by a disembodied voice; it was not abrasive nor soothing, the same level of tolerable that the furniture had been, “you will be seen now.”

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