But Call Me Betsy

I've been working on this story to turn in for the final paper for my Penn class, and it's still not quite hanging together. I forget what I used to do with revisions--would I start over? Mostly, I think I used to just keep writing until I figured out where the story was going. In this case, I can't get the ending right. It's too contrived. Writing about the experience of working with organ donor families reminds me again how emotional it was--how I would get these emails from out of nowhere that would have the photo of a dead child attached to it and a note from a family member saying, "I just miss him so much." And then I'd open the file and it would be a two-year old with his puppy or a ten year old girl on a bicycle or a 40 year old man holding up a fish. The stories were infinitely interesting--I learned so much about death and ways to die--more than the average person would want to know. I think it's part of the reason I'm still a cautious d...

Saturday, my new work friend, Stephanie, met me at the Germantown train line and we drove to this huge thrift store Celia told me about. I am spoiled by Circle Thrift because I now get overwhelmed when clothes aren't organized at least by color. Luckily, I had visited CT before going to the station and bought a pair of black Mary Janes, a tshirt with a unicorn on it that reads "Florida," and a Virgin Mary. The t-shirt I will only wear to work out in. It is just like the kind I used to have to make when I worked at a beach store in Clearwater. People could come in an pick from 100 plus transfers and then I would have to iron it on without burning anything. The Virgin Mary attracted me for sort of the same nostalgic reason. VM are omnipresent in South Philadelphia windows; virtually every other window features at least one Mary with her hands out as if she are saying, What? I didn't ask to be put here. I bought one to put in my window for three reasons (1). I kind of li...