Dear Christian,

I do not care to think about how old you would have been today. It has been too long and it is too hard. I am farther and farther away from being my favorite thing: a sister. This cannot be helped and I need all the help I can get.

Since the idea of creating a ritual around your birthday just never felt right, I'll simply tell you what I decided to do today:

1) I read selections from the collected Sugar columns by Cheryl Strayed on my subway ride home from work. These columns inspired me to write again with their "radical empathy," as Steve Almond called it, and the sheer love of life and words that jumped out at me when I clicked over every Thursday--a new ritual for a new life. I think "The Black Arc of It" helped B understand me better and I could never thank Strayed too much for that.

2) I began, and hope to finish, a review of Wit's End by Karen Joy Fowler. The book had a secret dead brother, who died at 19, just like you. The protagonist is incredibly angry, just like me. The handled this so well that it mitigated my sad shock at finding us on the page when I was just trying to read a good summer book.

3) When I finish my work I will play Skyrim and forget a bit.

4) You were so full of love that it inspires me to make more every day. So, today I will love B harder, even if he doesn't know it.

Sorry you got a list letter for your birthday, baby boy. I am all out of other ideas for today.

Miss you always,
Your sister

tids

"'Hello Aimee, it’s your dad. I was just calling to say hello to you and your family. I miss you. I love you. When will you come see us again?'"
The Disciples of Memory by Aimee Phan over at The Rumpus is beautiful and vicious essay about parents and Alzheimer's.

For all you academics and responsible writers out there, the MLA has answered an important question: How to cite a tweet.

I've been spending a lot of time on 50 Watts recently checking out the gorgeous book art and illustration. It used to be called A Journey Around My Skull--this one, not this one.

1. The light through the schefflera is not as charming as it should be.

2. My nose is dripping onto my upper lip and the dust is thick on the walls and I smell mold and other things, mostly gross things, like butts and fish and it makes me want to take off my face and put it away for the night.

3. There is a space in my life where Scrabble used to be.  Remember when we played?

4. I'm thinking about an essay that started in a half-dream in my friend Ray's guest room. In my mind I was running through the halls of my dead grandmother's L-shaped home in California. Everything was eye-level and I was going really fast. I am writing this on a tablecloth brought from her place that I never saw before. It is possible that it was never used while she was alive.

5. I don't feel like writing about what I've read. Sorry.