I'm Done With This

Last night, thunder rattled windows in their sockets and shook nick-knacks off the dresser. Rain, hail, wind, sleet, snow, and ever so briefly, just after dawn, a mango-hued rainbow arched over the entire city. Hungry black clouds raced back in from the west to devour any color clinging to the sky.

Another friend on life support thanks to Covid. Regardless of how I hold the flimsy sham that is death, I am not unaffected by the sorrow and grieving.

Snow at 1 a.m. lightens the night. I had forgotten how the outside world is muted with snowfall. Despite the cold, the dog doesn't want to come in. She sleeps curled up like cinnamon drop on the deck chair cushions that are now piled up in the corner of the deck. C'mon girl . . .

Eco villages, permaculture deep dives, intentional tending. We discuss the possibilities and by “discuss” I mean, I talk, he listens and says, “I'm listening” to which I say, “that means, you entertain my folly and hope that I will move on to something else in the near future,” to which he laughs and kisses my forehead and says, “goodnight, my love. Let's talk about it later.”

I sleep on the couch and drink tea and wait for the chills and ache to pass. My throat stings with every swallow and my head feels like a cement block set on a stone, teetering left or right without notice. Another Covid test tomorrow. Another wait and see.

In the meantime, did you see the docu-series on how fucking Nestle is taking free Michigan ground water and selling back to us for $1.09 per bottle? I'm done with this. And if you live with me, you are done with this too.