Notes from the Post-it Wall |Week of November 1, 2020
I look forward to knowing the indisputable results of the presidential election so that we can enjoy our holiday season debating whether “Baby It’s Cold Outside” is a rape song or not. (It is. That’s how shit got done in President Truman’s America.)
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.