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“Diplomacy is the art of saying ‘nice doggie’ until you can find a rock.” —Will Rogers
Grief was a miserable emotion. A friend once told me the hurt that came with the end of a relationship was painful because it was the death of a dream—the future you’d imagined with a lover, a loved one, a child, or a friend. That loss was its own painful, nearly tangible thing. You had to reimagine your future, perhaps in a different place, with different people, doing different things than you might have first imagined.
remember what I said. Do the right thing, Merit. Call her, even if it’s awkward.” I had no doubt it needed to be done. Unfortunately, I also had no doubt it would be awkward. I was never great on the phone, and as much as I missed my girl and didn’t want my fangs and her magic to come between us, it still wasn’t a call I was ready to make. Some days it didn’t pay to be a grown-up.
Have you ever noticed that however uncomfortable you might have been when you first went to bed—the room too hot or too cold; the pillows not quite right; the mattress lumpy; the sheets scratchy—by the time you should get up, your bed has transformed itself into the Platonic ideal of beds? The room is cool, the bed is soft, and the pillow may as well have been God’s Own Headrest.
“I’m trying, Sullivan.” “Try harder.” Why did people always think demanding we try harder was going to help? I was trying as hard as I could.
