I planted so many foodstuffs and the rain has been relentless, so all my seedlings are fucking drowning. I refuse to hope for less rain, because as the wise Pussycat Dolls once said, “Be careful what you wish for cuz you just might GET IT.” And rain is why this place is green, but maybe a brief break…?
I read two fantastic essays today.
Carmen Maria Machado, The Body That Says, ‘I am here’
Alexander Chee, The Rosary
Make that three, because also this talk-turned-essay by Patricia Lockwood, How Do We Write Now?
I’m trying to put together the last of three panel proposals for NFN 2018. I am trying to get ready to leave town. I am trying to keep my head screwed on, though it threatens, fucking THREATENS to twist off and float away into the ether like a dandelion seed.
I had a panic attack last night. Tangentially rat-related, but also ghost pine-related, and fatherless-daughter-syndrome-related. It was bad enough that I had to take two Benedryls to get to sleep. Since “the nation” is now in an “epic” of opiod abuse, I cannot get my Ativan prescription refilled by anyone, and the nurse helpline and the crisis helpline have both separately recommend anti-histamines as a stop gap. It sort of works this way, by knocking me out cold. I could function on Ativan. It would be funny if it weren’t a bummer.
I like the sound of rain, even if it also sounds like all my seedlings drowning.