I want to know you’re okay. I want to hear from you. I want to reach out. I want to know.

Tell me how you are. How you’re getting through. What gives you hope, what is crushing you.

I don’t want to wait until it’s too late. (but maybe it already is.) Only I am weak. I am scared. So I say nothing. Maybe you don’t care anymore. I do though.

I remember your way. how you could calm me, taking that sharp edge of my anxiety and smooth it out a little, make it tolerable. Giving me a space to breath some cleaner air. I could use that right now. When every day is just so hard.

Tell me. Tell me everything.

Life has gotten weird

Day 12? Day 2? Day 725? Who knows. Who cares.

These emergency alerts from my state government are so fckn surreal.

Also, the US will soon pass all other countries for total cases of infection. And according to accounts from the ground, our death toll is considerably higher. Healthcare workers in NYC are reporting many more deaths from pneumonia and its complications, people who aren’t and won’t be tested. And dipshit in chief reports his response as a 10/10. You can hide numbers and withhold testing but the bodies are piling up. Where are you going to hide those, #45?

Just when I think I have reached the ceiling of my rage, I learn that it was a ceiling under a ceiling under another ceiling. I do not think there will be an end.

I need to finish my impeachment hunks calendar so I can start on my global pandemic hunks calendar. 2020 is so busy with hunks!

I like lavender a lot

It’s day 8, or 146, who can be sure anymore.

It’s been going great. I’m so patient and kind and gentle and loving with the children, there is never any fighting or slamming of doors or fond stroking of the knives in the kitchen. Our isolation is just bursting at the seams with enriching activities and adorable, coordinated dance routines set to hits from yesterday and today.

As wonderful as it’s been, being with my amazing children 24/7, making four hundred meals a day, and just loving them so so so hard, it isn’t quite enough. Because the only distraction from the crushing anxiety has been my madly spinning merry-go-round of depression, rage, and fear. Wheee!!! Anxiety! Depression! Rage! Fear! Round and round we go where we stop nobody knows!

So I want plants. Lots of plants. Since I don’t have a yard and I kill almost everything I touch, I’m starting small, with things I can grow on my balcony. I’ve tried and failed at this before (you can’t see it in this picture but I have a nice little collection of dead plants and broken dreams in the corner of the deck, begging me to add to it). What better time to try again than a global pandemic.

This here is lavender.

And you know something? It helps, a little. A calm, quiet, lovely little pleasure, taking care of these tiny things. watering them, moving them into the sun in the morning, bringing them in at night when it gets cold. I like it very much.

Alas, my skill at killing plants far surpasses my skill at keeping them alive. So say hello AND goodbye to these sweet green sprouts. Soon they’ll be as withered and useless as my hope for the future. And away I’ll slink, back into the darkness, dropping another addition to my pile of death, wondering who my next victim will be…