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On Tears, Depression, and Mixing Metaphors

Sometimes I feel it before it comes. Sometimes it builds in me, like a cough does – the way you track the tickle of it up your esophagus. You brace yourself, then; you cover your mouth, you look off into the middle distance expectantly. You give the apologetic one-finger to whoever you’re talking to. It… Continue reading On Tears, Depression, and Mixing Metaphors