My brother hasn’t been home in a few days.
He’s been living at a friend’s place.
“I’m helping him cope with his loss,” he says,
“of a little sister who was with him always.”
She was barely sixteen. She took her own life.
No matter how much I crib, I have to admit I’m pretty darn lucky. There is something to be said for being born a male in a male-dominated world. There is something to be said for being born in a generation where technology doesn’t scare me—but it doesn’t engulf and dumb me either. There is something to be said for being born in a culture where I’m allowed to find my own mate, but can also crawl back home with my tail between my legs and have one summoned for me.
There is a lot to be said for not having the media get to me.