© 2016 by Marisol Cruz.

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    June 14, 2016

    Ending the school year took a toll on this blog.  


    Time whittled away on me.  


    I uploaded grades, and I finished reading Steinbeck's Travels with Charley.


    I know; I know.  


    My last post was nearly two-weeks ago.  




    Besides saying goodbye to colleagues, the massacre in Orlando peripherally impacted me.  (I use that adverb to be clear that my experience in no way comes close to those who were directly impacted.)  



    This past school year, I served as the adult sponsor of our first Gay-Straight Alliance chapter on campus.  



    My youngest sister -- a member of the "L-word" community -- knew some of the victims.  She was too busy to talk, so we sent texts back and forth. She disclosed that she had been invited to Pulse that night -- she declined the invite.



    Much of my family resides in the Orlando area.  


    To be both blunt and awkward, tragedies seem so far away when they happen somewhere else.  


    When they take place in your own backyard, you wander around sort of zombified -- without words.  


    At least that's where I am.


    Last week, I chose to postpone my trip.  


    I was supposed to ride off into the sunset today.  


    Last week, I realized that I wanted more time to spend with my friends and family.  


    I am grateful I relinquished any attachment to a calendar.


    In community is where I wish to be -- albeit zombified -- without words.  


     Glee's version

    of Lady Gaga's

    Born This Way




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