red sky shadow monster

I had plans to sit down and write a flurry of posts tonight. I've been making notes of things to blog about - small, inconsequential things. Poetic (to me) notions I've had lately. Little victories I want to remember. An essay on what it feels like to watch the world burn, as a Gen X'er. Just my usual self-absorbed bullshit. 

But now that I am here, there are lead weights on my hands. Everywhere I turn my thoughts is like pushing on a bruise. This time. This insane, apocalyptic time. What can you even say? How can you find level enough emotional ground to be still and corral your thoughts? I fucking can't.

Every otherwise quotidian challenge is amplified by the sadness we're already carrying. The pandemic. Our joblessness, or that of our friends and family. The surreal state of politics. The racism and violence. The natural disasters coming so furious but so frequently that we're in danger of getting inured to them - until they suddenly kill us.

Pasadena is under evacuation watch, because of the wildfires. Fucking Pasadena

I play distraction games with myself. French exercises, reading, yoga, running, cooking. Thirty minute blocks of doing whatever holds my attention until inevitably, around eleven o'clock at night, everything I've held at bay all day comes crashing in with a vengeance. And then I am racked. All the pain and uncertainty I feel for myself and the people I care about, all my failures past and present. There's no hiding under the covers from any of it.

I'm used to depression. I've either lived with it shadowing me or straight up enveloping me for most of my adult life. But now I am seeing my friends suffer, growing listless under their forced inertia. And it makes me angry. So, so angry. They didn't do anything wrong. They don't deserve it. If I could I'd siphon it all off of them, out of them. Make them pure and whole and untouched by the monster who is my familiar. 

Tonight the sky is red and my afflatus...flat. I will try again tomorrow.