Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 30, 2022
It’d be funny if Biden appointed Anita Hill to the Supreme Court. Of course, it won’t happen. She’d never accept. But it’d be funny in the most tone deaf, hateful way imaginable.
A Missed Opportunity
Hunting rats and my desire to kill them was the first topic of conversation my wife and I had when we met. She said I should not have been walking the alley behind my apartment with a small bb gun shooting at them because they had a right to be there. She wasn’t wrong. But neither was I. Fuck rats. Kill them all.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of October 13, 2019
The Eagles are a grossly overrated band. Separate from that, Hotel California might be the most terrible song ever recorded. Worse, yes, than Rebecca Black’s Friday.
Considering Chicago’s Dead Rats — An Existential Discovery
Recently, I watched a rat die naturally and it nearly broke my heart. It’s a strange feeling since I have taken the lives of so many rats before.
In our house, we refer to the summer of 2014 affectionately as the Summer of the Rat. Three out of seven days a week during that summer when I would take our dog, Eddie, out for his morning constitutional, I’d find at least one dead rat in one of the several rat traps we had set in our yard. While Eddie did his business, I tended to the business of disposing of the rat. I was always prepared to find one so I’d pick up the trap gingerly by its edges and drop it into the plastic trash bag I’d brought out with me. When Eddie was done, I’d use a smaller plastic bag to scoop up his poop and drop that into the rat bag, tie it up and walk it to the dumpster behind our apartment building.
That dark room is yours, and yours alone.
Its shadows are by your design.
The monster under your bed is just the fears you haven’t felt yet.
Don’t worry about them now.
They’ll find you soon enough.