I can deal with my father’s death, even if it’s tragic and awful and makes me want to puke—I have seen this now, that I can survive a worst-case-scenario, that surviving it is no longer an idyllic, future happening, but a reality that I’ve been thrust into.
I’m another souvenir, amongst many, from the various journeys through time that my father took. Perhaps more deeply rooted, being his child, but still a part of a much larger picture.
I’m afraid that going home will make his absence that much stronger, more biting than it’s already been. I’m afraid that seeing this same sadness on hundreds of faces, rather than five, will make it hurt that much more.
On the two year anniversary of this blog I can think only of my amazing dad, Craig Schiffer, who died unexpectedly this past Monday.
The belly wakes up first: it needs the most protecting. After all, this is where a kind of magic happens.
A list of things that are “not hot, not not, just meh.” Today’s roundup incudes: Emma Roberts, love/drug metaphors and “third wave” coffee.
The film fails to bring on any overwhelming emotions, I think because it fails to truly connect viewers with each character if they haven’t also read the book. Despite this, there’s a worthy message at the end.
Self-criticism is common to us all, and if we’re constantly comparing ourselves to dubiously ‘perfect’ humans we’re only fueling that fire.
Re-assessing is something we ALL should do, eating disorder/addiction or not. It seems trite and corny but if we do it honestly, I don’t think it is.