Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying
Last week Bette and I kind of unexpectedly headed to Michigan to help my mom through a minor procedure. It went well and she did great. Bette got some quality time with Kristi, Naomi and their son. They took her to a family Pride festival a few blocks from the legendary fetish shop, Noir Leather, that we used to pretend we were cool enough to browse in earnest and I once disastrously bought mini-thins from. Life comes at you fast.
The night after we got back I received an alert saying a mass shooting was reported at a splash pad about three miles from my mom's house and around the corner from a park I grew up going to regularly. Being able to picture it, being able to know what the ER looks like that these people - including children - were being rushed into...it was deeply upsetting and hard to accept.
After I called my friends and mom to check in, Bette started crying and told me she was scared of being shot. It's not an unrealistic fear. It is un-fucking-believable that it is not an unrealistic fear to hear from a 9 year old. I'm getting pretty fucking sick of feeling like I'm supposed to accept it.
The horrific normality of this event and the routine indifference from politicians that we face as Americans is an insidious kind of nihilism. I don't want to believe that gun control is impossible and I'm an idealist at heart. I want to hope. But I do think there is an unnerving mentality that begins to take root when you become numb and complacent to the idea that this is just how we live. It's sinister and it seeps into your consciousness.
Going to a movie theater or concert, going to high school or middle school or elementary school or kindergarten or a playground - these have all become activities with a de facto and acceptable risk for being shot. Are the odds high that you or someone you love will be shot by a stranger? Overall, no, thankfully. Are they non-existent? Very No.
Last night I dreamt that Spencer and I rented a huge, gorgeous old mansion with friends. It was stunning but in disrepair and would sway in the wind violently. We agreed we needed to break our lease as the situation became increasingly dangerous - partial collapses in the house, aggressive leaks and glaciers floating by on freezing water (welcome to my head). But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere felt safe. My dreams are many things but they are not subtle.
Over the years, Spencer and I have had conversations about moving. Between the climate, the lack of mosquitoes, the landscape, the people and a convincing argument from a bartender at the Cobblestone, we were definitely "vacation pilled" after our trip to Ireland last year. With things seeming to move increasingly backwards here socially and politically, it felt comforting to imagine a different place to raise the girls.
Is it privileged, starry-eyed and a touch naive? Sure, but I'm running out of ideas as well as hope.
Watching, Reading, Listening
My mom, Bette and I watched Quiz Lady while we were visiting. It was ok. Good performances. Honestly, it made me want to rewatch The Chair because I love Sandra Oh so much. If you have not seen this show, please do so at your earliest convenience. I have not had a second to start the second half of the Bridgerton season which I hope to remedy tout suite this week.
I finished Fight Night, which I can wholeheartedly recommend. I started Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing on the flight to Detroit and finished it on the way home. Bim was right. So was Nick Hornby. This book was ill-served by coming out in the wave of Bridget Jones and her imitators. I definitely read it as part of my "chick lit" (BARF) phase in college. I'm so glad I revisited it. Thank you, Bim. I've started The Storm We Made and also borrowed August Blue from Libby. I've never read Deborah Levy so we'll see.
If you went to high school in the 90s and liked alternative radio, I highly recommend this playlist that some angel created based on the early days of my local station 89X. I am flooded with joy, nostalgia and embarrassment regularly when I listen.
Lifting
An overpacked carryon suitcase. Again.
Ingesting
Shawarma, hummus, tabouli and fattoush from Cedar Grille, greek salad and hot fudge cream puff from Kerby's Coney Island, honeycomb from Qamaria Coffee (they're coming to NYC!), Court Street Grocer's Vegtalian and Raisinets, which seem to be a more polarizing candy than I would have imagined. 50 mg Vyvanse; 100 mg sertraline; several supplements and some birth control.
Struggling
To face the fact that even very low-dose edibles seem to interact with my medications in a way that leaves me more anxious and depressed than usual for a few days afterwards.
Buying
Really trying not to. Like in a constant state of actively trying not to buy these sandals.
Creating
Some core memories with Bette last week, I hope.
Fixating
See above.
Avoiding
Thinking about anything after October.
Reader, I Pinned It
Heard about this label for the first time and am intrigued; going back and forth about when/whether to do a hair chop and this bitch keeps tempting me; they're nice and I like them.
