I have at least two uncles that, for reasons not entirely clear to me, no longer speak to my father. And by extension, the rest of my immediate family.

My father in turn refuses to speak to them and has given me little or no information about these feuds, so all I know comes from the half-speculative threads my siblings have tried to explain to me. The best I can understand is that one feud comes out of pride and disrespect (both legit and projected), and the other is pretty much just Trump. Can’t really do much about that second one. That guy really broke people’s brains. Pick a better savior, guys.

But all that’s to say that there’s probably like a 99% chance my uncles have already said the last thing to me they’ll ever say. One of them hasn’t spoken to me in well over ten years, and due to basic geography I’m probably not going to be anywhere near either of them anytime soon.

I’m a very specific kind of sad about this. I like my uncles as well as anybody does, but I was also not very close to them to begin with, so I’m not heartbroken or hurt. I feel sad the way I do when I read a tragic story in the news. My heart breaks for the strangers they have become.

And then I take stock of my own life and any anger I’m feeling and I remind myself: none of that shit’s worth it. Life’s fucking fine, alright? Depression and all. I’ve got no reason to shun anyone.

Maybe my reason for getting out of bed each day is specifically to fight off the urge to isolate. I’ll keep at it, then.