It's been one year today since I lost my dad. 

My last picture with Dad. I just now noticed he's using the pillowcase I sewed in 7th grade.

I suddenly thought of him just after noon, and when I looked at the clock, I discovered it was the time he passed away one year ago. It brought me back to the moment I learned that he'd gone, and what a strange feeling that was even though I'd had a couple weeks to prepare. I can only describe the month of March last year as an outer-body experience. I imagine that's a natural feeling, one of self-preservation. 


Why is happiness so hard to write about?

I've had this question for some time now. I'm not much of a songwriter, but I dabble here and there and I've never been all that happy with the songs I write about being in love or feeling happy. They come out feeling cliche or saccharine. I've always been much more attached to the songs about loss and hurt. That goes for much of what I've written.

I posed this question in my book club on Saturday, hoping to get an answer.