01/05/2026
I try to talk about things like nuclear issues that matter to me with my parents and it’s like I’m speaking Bratislavan. They listen indulgently to me for an appropriate length of time, and then after I’m out of wind, they ask me why I live in such a God-forsaken place like the Mojave Desert and how my love life is. Give parents the tiniest of confidences and they’ll use them as crowbars to jimmy you open and rearrange your life with no perspective. Sometimes I’d just like to mace them. I want to tell them that I envy their upbringings that were so clean, so free of futurelessness. And I want to throttle them for blithely handing over the world to us like so much skid-marked underwear.
