I am in a semi-dark apartment, Tulsa Oklahoma, what's left of America.
I am barefoot. I am drinking a watermelon-flavored Mt. Dew because I liked its color when I saw it at checkout. It's not horrible. It's not great either.
Besides me is a dog. A dog I once lived with at a different house not very far from here. It is my old roommate's dog. I come by to walk him twice a week on the days that my old roommate has to work a long shift. My compensation is I get to have the apartment to myself (plus dog) during those times. I am eager for the opportunity and try to make the best of it.
Things with her are rough right now (not the old roommate or the dog but the eponymous "her" of previous entries. My reason for escaping to a dog in a different apartment.) I started to write about it but erased it all. It just makes me tired. All the back and forth in my brain. All the stress of it. All of our difficulties communicating.
I do feel, for better or worse, that what we have is a trauma bond. We get each other in ways that most people do not. We tolerate each other's neuroses for the most part.
We are a safe harbor after a shipwreck. A nice place to be, but not a good place to remain forever.
But it reminds me of a memoir I read in college about everyday German life during the rise of Hitler. How the author said he found himself clinging to the normal petty dramas that make up our day-to-day lives. He would still go dancing and shopping and having coffee with friends. There were protests and he marched in them, but they weren't every day. Most days were just full of shocking and horrible news headlines followed by a normal breakfast and a normal day at a normal job.
And that reminds me that life is always chaos and normalcy thrown together ad-hoc. It is always the end of the world. Always the beginning of something new. Always the persistence of our own needs and wants.
History is just the backdrop. The table settings. The stage props.
And right now the stage is dressed once again for a horror show. The actors have borrowed the scripts from past tyrants.
Hopefully, this play ends the same way as ones in the past: Short-lived, self-sabotaged by their own cruelty, corruption, and paranoia.
And here at the homefront, where I am one of two little wounded birds, a pair of souls that want to love but don't know how. What are we in all of this?
Everything and nothing all at once. As are all of us.
Dear God or Universe or Whatever,
Let what needs to end, end.
Let what needs to grow, flourish
Let us not stand in the way of our own harvest and planting
May we find peace in whatever circumstance we find ourselves in.
11:12 a.m. - 2022-07-05
Recent entries:
Pray for Rain, Dig a Well - 2022-08-29
The Things That Can Only be Whispered in Darkness - 2022-08-16
Lot of feelings, lack of words - 2022-08-09
Samsara - 2022-07-23
Nihilism for Fun and Profit - 2022-07-08
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