I hid behind instruments, computers, Whitney’s voice, Prince’s guitar. I sat in front of my computer surrounded by cassettes, illegally downloading songs, awkwardly whispering “I love you more than I know how to explain and I’m scared so here’s a mixtape I made you.”

“Selfishly, I’m worried about what will happen if I say out loud that I’m uncomfortable with all this God, if I let my brain run its anxious course. If my atheist, queer, bipolar self comes to choir with me in all its unkempt glory, will I lose my safest place?”

The exploitation of love, anxiety and poverty are the driving force behind another made up moneymaking holiday. ‘Merica!

“As it turned out, stuffing turkeys on the graveyard shift was a bonding experience that could not be transcended.”