The COVID Diaries: Suitable for Sadness

Hi Darling Ones,

Every time I add a new plant to the Sadness Garden on Planta it tells me a little about the plant (a tradescantia nanouk named Travis), as you can see above. Because I named my location Sadness Garden, the app frequently tells me something is “suitable for sadness” and I love it.

Today, I am suitable for sadness too. All the conditions are there: bad sleep, disappointment, bummedoutedness. Let’s address these issues because maybe getting them outside of me will make me feel better*.

Bad Sleep: I had a horrible nightmare last night that woke me in the wee small hours of the morning. I won’t bore you with too many details, but it involved a man rubbing his penis against me when I did not want that penis rubbed against me. What made the dream so awful was it was episodic. I woke up like three times and every time I calmed myself back to sleep it started up again. I couldn’t get away from the man. I told people what happened and they didn’t care. It was wretched and I can’t quite shake the dream. It’s drenched the whole day in ick.

Disappointment: Last night’s Liz Phair “live”stream that I was really looking forward to was not what I expected. What I expected was a live show streamed to my computer, kinda like all those Amanda Shires’ Isolounging shows she did WAY BACK 1000 YEARS AGO when the pandemic first started. What I got was an artsy black & white interview and performance video featuring a puppet of Andy Warhol. It was fine, I guess. I like to hear Liz Phair talk and sing. She did “Crater Lake” and “Polyester Bride” so that was great, but it was not what I wanted at all. I wanted something live and spontaneous and joyous, and that was not it.

Bummedoutedness: You know what super bumming me out this week? All the people reminiscing about this time last year. The last time I travelled. The last time I ate in a restaurant. The last time. . . whatever we used to do in the before times. It makes my heart hurt so much. This morning as I sat on the edge of my bed for twelve minutes willing myself to put on clothes I couldn’t stop thinking about how we’re ever going to get past the trauma of the last year. Like, I’m always a little sad as a human, like Dessa I run a little blue, but this pandemic has taken me to unforeseen depths of blue. I know I’m not alone. How do we come back from this? From so much loss from so much heartlessness (thanks US government, Corporate America, capitalism) from so much obliviousness to our own mental health?

Today has been a lot and I’m going to drown my sorrows in chilicheesedogs and shirtless Joshua Jackson (see below) because I’m a sad, fat, horny old lady who made her award-winning chili specifically for this purpose**.

Thanks for listening,

*I thought about putting Gladys away for the night and drooling in front of The Affair, which is what I’m watching now that I finished Mad Men. At some point I watched the first season of this show because it features a bearded, frequently shirtless, Joshua Jackson (aka Pacey Whitter). Sometimes he wears a cowboy hat, and you know how about cowboys.

**Canned chili kinda grosses me out. The rest of this week will be filled with chili & grilled cheese, chili cheese burritos, chili omelets, chili nachos, and then the sweet relief of death by chili, I think.

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