Five Star Blog Roundup 423: Four Great Posts and a William H. Gass Quote
This week's Five Star Blog Roundup is brought to you by a bodily reality, being surprised by cool art, the sadness of falling heroes, a cat that came back, and a quote by the late William H. Gass:
"I've Got This" by Courtenay Baker at Soup:
My doctor asks, “Well, did you expect this?”
I shrug, “Probably.”
She’s seen me through the last four years, my life crumbling like bleu cheese. I put it back together again, but she knows that bleu cheese is always a bit moldy and that I do not take care of myself because there are kids, two jobs, a house, a yard, other family, and now classes.
“You’ve got this.”
"What the Fuck Is 'Art'" by Samantha Irby at Bitches Gotta Eat:
here's the thing: i don't know anything.okay that's not true, i know a handful of super specific things that i will likely never be tested on, plus if there ever was an impromptu general knowledge exam i could probably fake my way through at least 3/4 of it, but i don't really know anything i could ever speak confidently about to anyone else, especially if they are more than nine years old. people are always asking me to speak at things where audience members will have clipboards and recording devices hoping to use whatever i'm saying practically in their own lives and my response every time is ARE YOU KIDDING ME. listen, i would love to speak at your university's gastrointestinal conference, sir in my inbox, but i don't even know which one my pancreas is. call up someone who actually knows what bile does.
"Even though I am sort of A Tough Guy, I am crying" by Rowan Grigsby at CrossKnit:
So here goes, world.
I’m gonna be real unhappy if Mr. T shows up on this list.
Yeah, Mr. T. The ex-wrestler. Star of the A-Team. Cartoon hero. But more than that.
"The Cat Who Came Out Of The Mist" by Tom Cox at Tom Cox:
I have been in, and lived in, houses that, while not haunted in the traditional sense, seem to retain an unriddable energy of vileness and anguish that might have taken place within them, and it is possible that the same phenomenon can exist in a patch of the British outdoors, such as this quarter of a square mile of paddock and woods and road. I would not have been surprised to find a mystic stone in the centre of it all, glowing malevolently, just like my friend Luke insists the one on the hill above his house in Devon did one night when he touched it, although it must be noted that he was fairly stoned at the time.
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