Scattered Thoughts on a Sweltering Afternoon

I’ll admit it: today, I struggled to find a good topic for this post. It’s July in South Florida—hot, heavy, and maybe a little uninspiring. But I showed up anyway, because the habit of writing matters, even when clarity doesn’t come easy. So here it is: a mosaic of musings from a Thursday afternoon in 2025.

1. I haven’t gone to a movie theater since December 2019. The last film I saw on the big screen was Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly six years.

2. Grief never, ever goes away—no matter what people say. Time might soften its edges, or bury older losses beneath newer ones, but memory is neither linear nor obedient. It zigzags and resurfaces when you least expect it.

3. I still wonder if Cheryl T.—my girlfriend for a day in 1972 at Coral Park Elementary—ever thinks of me. Fifty-three years later, I regret losing her phone number when I moved to Tropical Elementary. Funny how some losses never feel small.

4. Childhood trauma doesn’t excuse blanket hatred of “all criminals,” nor does it justify support for fascist, authoritarian policies like those championed by Donald Trump—especially regarding immigration and mass deportations without due process. The connection between childhood trauma and undocumented immigrants is tenuous at best. Blaming the marginalized feels, to me, like thinly veiled racism.

5. Many Trump supporters loudly claim to defend free speech—until they encounter ideas they dislike. Post anything that strays from the conservative orthodoxy (like skepticism about celebrating the Fourth of July), and they’ll let you know: either through performative “debate,” unfriending, or blocking.

6. Writing is hard. It demands focus, grit, and stamina—and there’s no promise of success, recognition, or reward. Still, we write. Because we must.

7. I want to see James Gunn’s Superman in theaters. I really do. But given how things tend to go, I suspect I’ll end up waiting for the Blu-ray release instead. That’s how it’s been lately—and I’ve learned to make peace with delayed gratification

8. The U.S. Copyright Office raised its basic registration fee for a single literary work from $65 to $125 in just five months. Apparently, inflation doesn’t stop at the grocery store.

9. It pains me to admit this, but creative artists are often undervalued in American society. Writing, painting, composing—these are seen by many as luxuries or frivolities. Pleasure reading? To some, it’s pointless.

10. And speaking of books: I think the way literature is taught in high school—and even college—kills the joy of reading. Over-analysis, rote memorization, and reductive assignments can turn wonder into chore.