Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

An Emporia, VA sunset.   In the run of things, 2024 was one of the hardest years of my life.  It began with a friend dying unexpectedly, and it ended with a new heart wound that I'm still processing.  It's been dark around here these days.  It's been dark for ages, actually.     My Dad's cancer was confirmed before Thanksgiving, the Wednesday the week before, to be precise.  In a phone call, as he was driving home (and stopping to see my Mom), I called him, and he told me.  He'd barely found out himself.  Then . . . Then, I made a phone call to an old friend of mine.  Little did I know that act would undo me.  Back in 2020, shortly after my sister passed, I was told that when it came to the heartbreaking, bad news, we called each other . . . no more texting things like "my sister has cancer" and "my sister died." It made sense; she insisted that we call from now on.  In all these years of being separated by ocean and ...

 Sitting an ocean away, on another summer of work via escapism (or is that vice versa), I've finally slowed down to process the past year.  The threats to unalive me from students, my resignation from there, my words being taken out of context (perhaps purposefully) in my day-to-day life and not even personally, to a three-word text, and being back together two weeks later, to being ghosted in the cold squalls of mid-February.  My head still spins at it all, especially with how busy I've been this year.  Though, as these things go, dreams and missed ones cross the mind's eye.  I'm still numb and waking up from the emotional coma.  It's not the emotional coma of 2020-1, but it hits different without a coherent definition or design.     While in France, I found a sense of peace one day.  I was so at ease and comfortable while kayaking that when someone asked where I was from, I answered something else.  Girls on the kayak away respon...

 At twenty-one minutes to midnight, my phone said, "Annessa, We're over."  I couldn't breathe, and I felt my heart stop.  My heart hasn't beat the same in the days since.  Like a country song, it hurts to breathe.  A handful of messages later, after I begged, he called in the cruelty of it all.   Our lives have been playing like a video reel in my mind, and us laughing for no reason while we rolled through yellow lights touching his Jeep's ceiling, driving down from Denver as darkness covered and snow fell. We wondered how anyone in Colorado got out of their driveways alive; we joked they probably weren't from there anyway. Our dogs carry beef rolls in the yard like cigars. Him popping out his elbow for me to take his arm as we walked down streets, across parking lots, or nearly anywhere. Him picking me up at the airport nervous, him picking me up at the airport and wrapping his arms around me to say, "welcome home." Our seemingly endless days an...