I wake, I send light to Aleppo, Standing Rock, every community under attack, every heart I’ve failed or has failed my own. I make a list of which representatives to call about what, and I pray for the Electoral College to step the fuck up and for my higher spirit to guide me to clarity and compassion. Then I tell my permakitten she is beautiful and kind and, in her rapid blinks, feel her telling me the same. I make a second list–which onerous personal tasks I must complete; what buttons must be sewn, what bills must be paid–and scan headlines with baited breath. Then, only then, do I make my coffee. This is the world narrowed through my door since November 9.
I became an adult at age 6, when I first realized no one would dry my tears but me. What happened that day is a story I may tell another time, but my point here is that there is something very ancient and very tragic about the child who weeps without hope of comfort. In short, they are no longer a child, but an adult who carries the world’s weight on shoulders too small to sustain it. Continue Reading →
Walking home just now from a pretty, petty party (with the exception of my precious compadres), I caught myself thinking, “God, I’m such a night owl since Trump was elected,” and then immediately laughed out loud. This made me the tall blond woman in a cape and a big fur hat cackling loudly by herself on an empty dark street, but I had that coming. Nowhere in the world does 10:34pm count you as a night owl unless you are a true homebody who is typically already under the covers with a permakitten on her legs and a book on tape spilling cozily into the darkness.
I wake, I send light to Aleppo, Standing Rock, every community under attack, every heart I’ve failed or has failed my own. I make a list of which representatives to call about what, and I pray for the Electoral College to step the fuck up and for my higher spirit to guide me to clarity and compassion. Then I tell my permakitten she is beautiful and kind and, in her rapid blinks, feel her telling me the same. I make a second list–which onerous personal tasks I must complete; what buttons must be sewn, what bills must be paid–and scan headlines with baited breath. Then, only then, do I make my coffee. This is the world narrowed through my door since November 9.
I became an adult at age 6, when I first realized no one would dry my tears but me. What happened that day is a story I may tell another time, but my point here is that there is something very ancient and very tragic about the child who weeps without hope of comfort. In short, they are no longer a child, but an adult who carries the world’s weight on shoulders too small to sustain it. Continue Reading →
Walking home just now from a pretty, petty party (with the exception of my precious compadres), I caught myself thinking, “God, I’m such a night owl since Trump was elected,” and then immediately laughed out loud. This made me the tall blond woman in a cape and a big fur hat cackling loudly by herself on an empty dark street, but I had that coming. Nowhere in the world does 10:34pm count you as a night owl unless you are a true homebody who is typically already under the covers with a permakitten on her legs and a book on tape spilling cozily into the darkness.