Why I Won’t Stop Worrying About President Yam

I knew I’d have to take extra blows against sadness during this GOP convention. So as  a type of exorcism, I will list the most heartless turnarounds I can recall from my life:

“He was really callow in high school but he’s developed sensitivity and insight I admire. I bet we’ll be a new kind of friends in later years.” (Killed in a car smash when he was 20.)

“Everything is going his way now. Brilliant writing being rewarded, assured future.” (Died from AIDS.)

“He’s too smart to drink himself to death. We’ll remain best buddies into old age.” (Liver failure when he was 57.)

“He’s a rock of sanity in a secure position. Probably my favorite editor.” (Committed suicide.)

“She’s a beloved pal and she’ll be fine. She’s beaten cancer.” (But she hadn’t.)

These were all outstanding, talented people. I miss each of them at least every week. It is a merciless world.

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