Here’s a picture of what’s left in E’s bathroom, and it would make me cry in normal times, all the flotsam of the empty nest: a lighter from her Amsterdam adventure a couple years ago, her tampons, blue nail polish, hair pins. Now she can’t come back in here, to her childhood home, sans mask, until I am vaccinated. (J is but not me.) God, how I want us all just to be able to eat fried chicken, laugh, chase the cat, together, without masks.
March 13, 2021
This week was the last full week of school. Usually this is a joyous time, especially as I get to wish my seniors a fond farewell and hear about all their plans. There is a distinct lack of joy on everyone's part, and that alone is sad. The stress of the past few months has taken up residence in my neck, and now my left arm is difficult to raise (like to put on a shirt) and I'm not sure why. I didn't wrench it or anything. The center of my chest hurts sometimes, but I think it is stress, and seriously, who has time to go to the doctor who can't see you for two weeks anyway. I'll either be better or dead by then, so . . .? I'm tired of being angry and stressed all the time. Texas is the most goddamn backward state these days, what with this heartbeat bill and the law about to pass about teaching Critical Race Theory in history and civics classes. Sucks for Abbott that I teach English and have already purchased several books on CRT to teach to my AP lang kids. Picked my hill, ready to die on it. With that in mind, I need to send some cash to the Satanic Temple so they can keep fighting the draconian abortion measures our ass-backwards governor and friends keep trying. I find as I get older, my patience gets thinner, and the pandemic has stretched it to snapping--much like my neck muscles. . .
May 25, 2021