Displaced. Dysfunctional. Discombobulated.
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Originally I wrote yesterday’s post on the three sixth grades to lay some groundwork for my next post in my Holding onto the Hurt series, but it turns out that in thinking about sixth grade, especially that third year at the new Christian Private School, I opened a can of mental worms. Just like [...]
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I like to believe I’m a forgiving person. However, I admit I have a problem holding on to hurt. I try to let go, but clings to me, swells inside of me, haunts me. Sometimes, months, even years later, after I think I’ve forgotten all about some wrong, someone or something will [...]
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What: The discombobulated inner-monologue of a single, thirty-something, displaced Southerner in small town New England.
Where: Maine
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