Day 220

In honor of the last day of the Las Dos Brujas writing workshop, please enjoy some of the sentences I wrote without any context.

My aunts’ and uncles’ behavior slowly undid my Baptist upbringing and made me more cynical than an 11-year-old should ever be.
My grandfather is captured on film as he was in life: on the sidelines, quiet, deferential to my grandma’s overpowering personality.
It feels weird to say, but I find public transportation comforting despite the potential for inconvenience, lateness, grossness, etc.
She is the unmovable mountain made of hardy stone, while I’m the soft chalky rock that crumbles easily.
Whenever I ask my mom about that Thursday, she likes to remind me of the C-section scar I gave her as an early birthday present and I like to point out that it was either cutting me out alive or giving birth to a stillborn.
Picking a casket is an odd task.
I always feel like I’m running out of time like Hamilton, minus the catchy lyrics and profoundness.