Okay, this is where I have to be like, uhhhhh I didn’t actually consume jack shit in September? I watched the NHL Playoffs (and am so proud of my lil underdog Dallas Stars for going all the way to game six of the Stanley Cup Final! My boys! ;_; My babies! ;_;) and I spent a lot of time on Twitter screaming about nonsense, but I did not watch or read a single thing because apparently six-ish months is where I hit the maxcap on my ability to continue blasting-ass through this year without finally feeling it.
I’ve kept up with the news. I’ve done my best to help however I can and continue to try to maintain perspective on how lucky I have been through all of this comparatively. My job has never been in danger, the people I love have been well, I’ve been safe and largely comfortable. I have been lucky. (Hey! Isn’t that a whole other fucked-up issue?! Sure is!)
But even knowing that, at some point you have to crack, right? I’m emotionally exhausted. I’m isolated and I’m fucking sad. I am a person that thrives on random human interaction. I love small talk! I live to make a cashier laugh! I try to bring kindness and goofiness around with me wherever I go! And I feed off that energy. And I haven’t had any since March.
I am a husk of the person I was at the beginning of 2020 and it is basically impossible to sit down and do any of the things I love when I feel like this. So I don’t have anything to share with you right now and I worry that I won’t next month either and that really stresses me out! I worry that I’ll never be able to just sit and enjoy something again because my brain has been fundamentally broken by the experience of this year. I hope you don’t feel the same. I worry you do. I hope we both find a way through.
In the meantime, I’m thinking about you. I’m sending good energy your way. Please donate to mutual aid funds if you’re able. I love you and I hope I’ll see you soon.
Here’s some pictures of Bruno with his last dumb haircut of the year to maybe make you smile. He’s technically always in my Totally Top Three of like, everything. 💜
ETA: I scheduled this post this morning and then this afternoon this post crossed my dash and really relieved some of my anxiety about this experience. Maybe it will do the same for you.
I’ve been on a country kick lately — unfortunately I am now truly midwestern, rip the cool version of me — that started because I listened to Bonnie Raitt’s entire discography and then the Old 97s — one of the only contemporary country artists I listened to when I was still cool — dropped an album in my lap! And it’s great. This is really classic country storytelling and it feels very alt-Texas. I’m partial to “This House Got Ghosts,” “I Like You Better,” “Belmont Hotel,” “Our Year,” “Bottle Rocket Baby,” and “Why Don’t We Ever Say We’re Sorry,” which, you know, is most of the album, so they must be doing something right.
One of my personal projects this year has been to try to get into poetry because I’ve never read beyond what I absolutely had to when I was in college/grad school and that seems unfair to a whole bunch of writers! It has been… a largely fruitless endeavor because my brain just isn’t designed for it honestly, but I ordered Kimmy Walters’ new collection The Faraway [
Tomasz Jedrowski’s Swimming in the Dark [
