pandemic diaries: 3:53p 26th april, 2020

i took two showers yesterday
one when i got up, thereabouts
another after i knew for sure that i was going to see you
brushed my teeth, twice.
(nothing is sure anymore.)
i hate having to keep putting myself out there to ask
hate being the one to put myself out there to everyone
this isn’t about you so much as it is about me.

i reach out tendrils
lengthening, sometimes to the sky, it seems.
feeling so very pushy, always
but now even more so since there is literally no one to talk to
every in-person conversation, interaction feels precious
turned over, inspected. saved.
i don’t want to waste any of it on anyone who doesn’t matter.
screens are one thing but it is no substitute,
so flat, so
so not real.

i had hoped for more skin time
more actual face time.
more hugging
more snuggling, curled up.
more of your hands in mine.

patience is something.
i know i cannot push you, you will stand firm.
and there is only so much that i can say.

i am thankful for you
as i know you are thankful for me.

as always.

pandemic diaries: 734a 25 april 2020

good morning.
it is a beautiful day
the sun is out, shining on my bared skin
raptors circle overhead
in the clear blue sky
and we are all thinking about death.

softness, poignant and melancholy in my ears.
rediscovered from a time of such darkness a hopelessness, back then.

i cried every day eleven years ago, every day.
always on my way to work.
often in the bathroom.
usually from relief in the parking lot.

“…lose yourself in lines dissecting…”

good morning.
it is a beautiful day.

pandemic diaries 224p 21 april 2020

i cant smoke enough today
cant distract from all the love all the
all of the truly meant “i love you”s
not the sweet softness of friends or family but the true
deep, desperateness of a real love.
the kind of love that has seen pain, felt it within its walls.
heard its voices quake in fear.

this pain this
this lack.

the isolation makes it more intense more
the virus of loneliness manifesting and growing wilder still.

try as i might to quench this beast this
i sit under the clear skylight
under the rain
no sound other than the shrieking in my skull
the purring of the engine
the staccato of the rain on the car.

six thousand
five hundred
seventy-eight days ago
on a day very much like (and completely unlike)
i saw your face for the first time
saw you wink
for the first time saw that thousand-watt smile
for the first time.
6,578 days ago i fell in love with you for the first time.
there honestly has not been a single day since
that i haven’t had the most incredibly complex thoughts about you.

i wish i could comfort myself with the belief that somehow
somehow you know all this
that in some way you are hearing me
seeing me.
still loving me in that complex, fierce way you had.

but this is how i know there is no god.
this is how i know for sure.
(nobody fuckin come at me over this you can fuck off and keep your smug shit to yourself i am TIRED)

unrequited love is BULLSHIT and it is roaring inside me like a furnace
oh it has places to go (well it used to, now didn’t it)
but it is held back
it is most definitely restrained

it doesn’t want to be.

everybody EVERYBODY
everybody says how strong, how brave, how resilient
no one is coming to save me. No one.

so i sit and i smoke and i cry and i hold my own hands.
and i scream inside my head all day long.
and when i do talk to someone anyone
mania takes over i have no control.
and i scare myself.

gam zeh ya’avor gam zu le tovah / this too shall pass and it is all for the good
i know I KNOW
but it is killing me NOW.

it’s been almost an hour that i’ve been out here, now, smoking.
my plant is finally drenched.
my medicine is finally working.
i smoked enough to take down a fucking RHINO.
there won’t be any ill effect from this, either.
my body knows what it needs, i feel clearheaded, if stoned.
none of the usual giggliness i usually do but most definitely
my medicine works hard,
i work harder.

pandemic diaries: 1145p 10 april 2010

this being apart shit.

this fucking shit is tearing my body apart
raking my flesh
scissoring my veins
shredding my bones…

it is rendering me jellied,

my body knows this feeling
this d e p r e s s i o n.
it isn’t the right time for it not like this.
all of this laying around and doing nothing
this is what’s different.
i’m not tired i am active. alert. pointy.
with no release.
no way to let go.
no way to succumb.

So I smoke.

and i eat.

and i smoke.

and I have a rich fantasy life and when I do venture out it is with
dire regard
like a fox I am so
I crave human interaction I crave
I crave.
i need
voice. a face.
a touch .

this is tearing me apart.

603p monday, 30th march, 2020

wanting to want to do something
becoming frustrated at every turn
every avenue blocked
each first becoming more
and more tentative.
i give up.
the phone in the half-inch of dirty dishwater was it.
tearing at the case to free my phone
fumbling it nearly to the floor
a soft, sharply inhaled shriek
what what what RICE
is that even what you’re supposed to do is it
I have wild rice mix does it matter?
gods it’s dusty that can’t be good for it.
try the phone, the speaker sounds shit oh FUCK.

leave it.
Leave it for hours. Let go.
Knit, a little, can you?
Would you?
Where? there are the stitches Mike made. Soft, soothing, remembering his hands in the wool.

you’ve texted everyone, overtexted.
emailed; overemailed.

It’s almost six. Nearly eight hours.

seems fine.
gingerly, reaching out.
soothed, analysis of the situation intact.
depression, surely, and not for no reason,
I mean
Not like it needs a reason but COME ON.

watching this cycle happen in real time
but slowed down
(how could it be slowed down I was right here I SAW IT HAPPEN)
talking through it
(in real time I think maybe that is so much a part of it we were talking actually

And now?
Vomiting up all the toxic fury.
Expelling it and becoming clean by its expulsion.

Even. Buoyed,
if not buoyant.

from where I sit I can see the pleiades.

right there, above the power line, center. see it?

951p, 21 march 2020

from where I sit I can see the pleiades.
like the teensiest, tinsiest, littlest dipper
The brightest thing in Taurus I am
the brightest thing in Taurus.

i am high and the stars are high
(about 25° above the horizon)
Venus is setting.

There is more light pollution here than at the old place
(the old place. the no-more place.)
It’s okay, so far.
As the year turns the trees will provide a new canopy
a different canopy

I know the cherry trees must be budding,
if not already trying to bloom
I drive past half the time and yet
I do not make time to notice
I look at her body, tired.
Wanting winter to finally be over.
Knowing that spring only ever always brings uncertainty,
Leaning in anyway.

Two and a half years. 810p, 13 March, 2020

Two and a half years.

I mean.

You know why I write so much, yeah? There’s no one to talk to here.
There’s no one here.

I go places and I look at things and I think of you and I can’t share them with you. I see things that I think you would like and I can’t tell you about them. I want to tell you that I signed up for hellofresh and I actually cooked and it was good. No, I didn’t make it the way it was supposed to be made, I didn’t put the blue cheese on because I don’t like blue cheese.

I made it the way I wanted.

and now I know how to cook potatoes like that I mean, I can make potatoes in the convection oven. I actually bought some extra potatoes on tuesday after work so that I could make some more with my extra burger that I have. I ate all of the potatoes with my first burger. I know I wasn’t supposed to do that but I was hungry and they tasted good.

On my way home from work and the supermarket tonight I looked out the window at the winter trees that have no leaves and saw that they were black against the civil twilight of the sky above the river. they were like paper cuts they were so finely detailed.

And now I’m sitting on the couch in my apartment and there is noise from above and there is noise from below and I am not making any of it. The only noise that is happening in my apartment is the aggressive purring of Mojo on my lap and the low-key ghostly howling that is coming from underneath the back door. Seriously it sounds like every bullshit made up ghost story “woooooooo”. Like I’m expecting to see the Mystery Machine screech to a halt in the parking lot.

I wish how I wish I could be one of those people with blind faith, with the committed belief that there is something after, that there is something else to be had after you die. That it’s not all just nothingness. Because then I could save up all the stuff to tell you. Or I could show you, you know, when I die.

I think about this ridiculous virus that is happening all over this planet and I’m grateful (if that’s an actual word that I can actually feel for this) grateful to not have to worry about you this time. That I don’t have to worry about your health.

Because you’re dead.
Some comfort.

thoughtless. 1027p 9 march, 2020

how dare you.
how dare you ask me if it was wise, crinkling up your face to say no, I don’t think so
“was it wise? to spend so much money on a good mattress?”


it isn’t the most expensive mattress, not by far.
it is a good mattress.
a king-size mattress
for my king-size bed
my king-size sheets
my king-size comforters
my king-size blankets.

how DARE you.

I sold my dead husband’s clothes
so that I might have a comfortable place to sleep.