I am a committed diarist (and yes, diarist is a word. Apparently). But the raw deal? What I really think, what I really do -- what *you* really think and do -- it's all in the texts.
The year 2020 in texts
“Supplies
needed for the weekend: please get Mommy wine and cigarettes.”
“Complicated scenario – I’ll explain later.”
“When you say ‘another ambiguous death,’ who do you mean? I’m scanning the news right now.”
“He was vivid one night, vigorous even – but delusional. Where does that vigor go during the day?”
“Biden is being tested for coronavirus, too.”
“The aide says she fell asleep last week while smoking and wound up burning the sofa.”
“Please no weird texts tonight. It wasn’t
personal.”
“She tells me watching Sophie attend kindergarten via computer is the saddest thing she’s ever seen.”
“Those items will be provided as is. No protests, please, and no nit-picking.”
"Driving home from NJ now and I just stopped for gas so I have to tell you the radio just played, ‘Train in Vain,’ I promise – you were here with me."
"Sinceramente mi sono emozionata molto."
“Don’t feel obliged to say yes.”
“Where are you hurting?”
“I don’t have $1,000 in cash on me.”
“Leo asked me this question the other day: Mommy, what do you like better, addition or subtraction?”
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