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I was constantly reminded of the feeling I’d had throughout middle and elementary school, when I was plagued by the sensation of being at the bottom of the ocean, naked, surrounded by people in full scuba gear. While they glided effortlessly through the water, kicking their flippers, breathing oxygen from tanks, I was singularly focused on looking like I wasn’t drowning.
Why is “nonchalant” a word but “chalant” isn’t?
“Get yourself a whole mess of pennies and put ’em in your socks. You want to make sure you fill ’em real good so your feet are always on the ground.”
cleaver to the strip.
The sick irony isn’t lost on me—suicide would be less of a stigma than using heroin to avoid killing myself.
