At the time I was going to school in Southern Illinois. In retrospect I was clinically depressed. My evenings consisted of three beers, watching “Bones”, then to bed with the help of frantic diary writing and a Klonopin. Every diary entry that year was about Sam. I wrote about worrying if he liked me, if he would call me. I wrote to quiet the swirling within me—a swirling that happened when I thought about calling him—because he rarely answered.
The Hairpin is slaying at the moment with it's memoir. This short piece by Kathleen Hale is beautiful and tragic, and explores tremendous themes of loneliness and isolation and how sometimes they have nothing to do with each other and sometimes they have everything. It's pretty perfect.
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