For Christmas, my husband gifted me a five-year diary: one question each day. One recent question to answer was, “What’s the best news you’ve received lately?”
I thought, and then I wrote, “That he found Penny and that she was safe.”
From what I’ve read and been told, one of the scariest things any parent can hear is that their child has vanished.
I’m woefully unqualified to talk about parenting, so I expect to be crucified — or canceled — for saying this. But I imagine the wave of terror I felt when my husband called me at work one evening last week to tell me “Penny’s gone” is not unlike any fear I would’ve felt had she been my biological human child, instead of my adopted four-legged one. …
The results are finally in, and on January 20, former U.S. Vice President Joe Biden will assume the role of President of the United States, with Senator Kamala Harris taking on the role of Vice President — the first woman, and the first woman of color, to ever do so.
I have waited days for this news.
Tuesday evening found me in the office with my co-reporters, waiting for the results of the local municipal elections so that we could call our candidates and finish writing Wednesday’s newspaper, and we all kept an eye on the presidential election results, waiting to find out whether our own votes would pay off. …
My father and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, and at the top of the list is always politics.
I’m not well versed enough to understand or even know the differences between every party, every platform, every issue, but I know that both my parents consider themselves Republican and consistently vote as such, while I now consistently vote Democrat, though I think I am more of what’s considered a liberal.
“Nothing sobers and reforms him like a…liberal education.”
Case in point — I took the Pew Research Center’s political typology quiz, and this is the result I…
Just this week I’ve seen steel gray blanketing overhead and cloudless, brilliant blue skies. A touch of rain dampened my front walk earlier this evening. The leaves on the backyard tree have begun to turn, and will soon start to fall.
With every tiny change, I expect to feel crisper air outside my window, and I want to reach for my sweaters, boots and scarves.
There’s a sense of slowing down in the fall. Not an overt sense, but a subtle one.
But this is southeast Texas, where a “cold front” equals 85 degrees and less humidity.
So, (im)patiently, I wait for a change in the seasons. …
My biggest fear, it seems, is to be forcibly separated from my family.
I say “forcibly” not because I won’t have any choice at all, but because it would likely feel as though I wouldn’t. With Hurricane Laura raging in the Gulf of Mexico and Brazoria County just west of the projected cone, my job is even more essential now than ever.
Our editor and publisher made that clear yesterday. This is when our community needs us.
And there is work to be done.
To be clear, though, Laura will not be Harvey. Multiple sources have said so, and the meteorologist I spoke to on the phone for a storm update yesterday afternoon said exactly that: “Laura will not be a Harvey.” …
“This is the life we signed up for,” my boss answered.
I don’t remember the question.
It came during a newsroom meeting last month, before coronavirus spread across the nation like the virus it is. The context of the conversation we were having — our managing editor, plus our assistant managing editor, and three reporters including myself—referenced 2017’s Hurricane Harvey, and he was saying “You’d be surprised at how comfortable this floor can be,” implying that, having to work or perhaps being stranded and having to work, he slept on the conference room floor. …
I appreciate your reaching out. But if you’d like to have a conversation, I don’t think this is one that we should have over social media. If you’d like to get coffee, chat, whatever, I’m more than happy to do that. Just let me know.
I meant every word, but not for one second did I believe she’d take me up on it.
She didn’t respond at all.
In February, my high school best friend reached out to me on Facebook. It was not a joyful reunion.
I still hesitate to call her my ex-best friend, because it doesn’t feel right. “Ex” implies some kind of final break, whether clean or messy, and there wasn’t one. Our friendship just… Trailed off, and her message sort of acknowledged that, saying that she was trying to figure out why we fell apart. …
On October 17, I sold my soul to Facebook. Again.
Back in May, I clicked the button to permanently delete my Facebook account, and in June, it was gone. (As gone as I could rely on, anyway, because I don’t trust Facebook to have deleted my information, but there was nothing more I knew to do.)
It felt freeing.
If you’ve watched the first season of You on Netflix, then you’ve probably heard Beck tell Blythe that she found a piece of Blythe’s writing illuminating enough to tweet. And then Blythe’s response:
“Social media — it’s like the next great genocide.” …
(Fun fact: I started typing out “Coronavirus,” and backspaced to change it to “The coronavirus” because AP style. Because reporter, y’all.)
And that’s exactly why I feel like I can’t get away from it: because I’m tasked with reporting on it.
Because of that, I’m afraid to go back to work.
It’s been really hard because there are only three full-time reporters — and I’m not a reporter in the sense that the other two are, because I don’t cover a specific beat. I cover features, which might be less stories per week, but with all events canceled and residents urged to practice social distancing, it’s a lot harder to get the features that I need, because all of the ones I had planned are no longer working out. …
I like my job. But I also think I’ve never quite dreaded a job as much as I sometimes dread this one.
I remember when I worked at the gym, I was saying to a coworker one day, “It’s really hard to find a job you don’t dread coming to every day” or “that you don’t feel like you need to take time away from” and that’s what it was like to work there. Here…I sometimes dread going, and I often feel like I might need to take time away, because I can feel the stress getting to me.
Those were pretty few and far between, though, which is good because I wasn’t even in a program that would warrant such stress. I didn’t study law. I wasn’t pre-med. I studied Creative Writing and French, had a great group of friends, and really enjoyed my college experience. Even when I had a part-time job there, and commuted an hour each way every day, I did well in my classes and the stakes were fairly low. …