Would That I Might

I had wanted to get to bed early tonight, but it is already too late for that.  It took me a bit to get settled in with my writing tonight, as can happen at times.  Everything is so draining these days, and I don't really know that their is much to be done about most of it.  I know I need to make things better for Melissa and I, as I have discussed before.  I have to take and do things, but I don't know what, that is in my power, I can really do.  The best I've been able to manage thus far is just attempting to keep my feelings in check around her, and just letting certain things go with members of my family, even when it is not okay with me to do that.  I am not sure how successful that strategy really will be for me.  I don't know.  I need to do what I must, though, if only to make things better for Melissa.  It has been hard on both of us, I know, and I may not be able to help myself in any real way right now, but that doesn't excuse my not doing what I can for h

There Was A Time When I Would Dance The music and I would meet and breath each other, my feet and shoulder, my arms.  If I had a partner, I could make them know my motions before it was due.  I was present with each beat and note and whatever lay between. I twirled and spun on a toe when it struck my fancy, swam through the air, danced around the room and around the other dancers.   I do not know why it stopped. I do not know what happened that I do not dance so much, now. I do not know.  I should get back to it, like so many things I did once and stopped for unknown reasons. I should do it again, I keep saying to myself, meaning it, but not enough to do a thing. I suppose that, too, can be called another kind of dance.

So much is weighing on me at the moment.  Things are just difficult and often, it feels that any effort I make is a waste.  Nothing seems to come of it.  I need to find a way to change and improve things, but the possibilities feel so limited.  Still, I have to find a way to at least work on what is here, right now, on improving things, if only just a bit.

We Must Make It Better though it cannot change in so many ways: I think it cannot be right, but it must be made better. You are suffering, and I am suffering, alone and together, and it is difficult for me: I remember what was done to us, feel it still.  It has caused harm and it cannot be undone. I do not think it can be fixed, but we must make it better. I must find a way  to make it better for us. I do not want the pain. I hope it can get better, though I am afraid. I know what cannot change, and I worry it will always be wrong. I must find a way, though, for you, I must.

I need to start getting myself to work earlier in the day.  I am fine with writing my poems in the evening before I get to bed, but I want to be doing other work as well.  I've got numerous ideas for creative non-fiction pieces, as well as ideas for stories that I want to explore.  I keep struggling, though, at getting myself to work on these things, and a large part of that is that I tend to get distracted and then only get to work on my writing when it is late and I feel I don't have time for anything but writing a few poems.  Don't get me wrong, I am glad to write those poems and don't feel bad doing that each day.  I am writing a lot, even so, and I feel good about a lot of it, as well.  I just know that I want to be doing more than this, and I know I am capable of it.  It is a matter of structure and commitment, probably, as that is what it took for me to get myself to this point with writing poetry each day.  I think the biggest obstacle is that it can be more dif

You Were Warned It Would Be Like This Each detail was described, the troubles, the problems that would arise.  It was clear this would cause pain.  It was said, what was to come was made clear. You chose this. It was clear and you made the choice. You did not listen to the warnings but continued along, and now you say it is too late, say it cannot be another way, as if it was not you who did this, as if you have no responsibility because your choices were already made.   What does it matter that you chose already? How does that excuse anything? The harm is still present, the pain is not subsiding. It must be changed. You must find a way to make it right. I know, it is probably impossible, but that does not matter to me. I do not care about what is possible. You chose to do this. You chose this and are responsible. There is nothing else to say.

Melissa and I went out tonight and were having a nice evening, but then I went and ruined it all by getting upset and going off about it.  My upset wasn't directed at Melissa, or at anyone who was present, but Melissa has been dealing with my emotions a lot, and I burden her with it too much.  I need to step up to be there for her and not put her in the position of trying to bolster and support me all the time.  I haven't always done as much for her as I should and I need to own that.  I need to show her I mean it through my actions.

What Can Be Said That Means Anything? You are right: it has been said, declared, promised, but only said. What has changed? It is nothing to say it, I know.  It is not anything. What is needed is not words. Words are not anything, can be used to say  what will never be, what is not ever true. I do not want it to be only words, but, you are right, I am saying that. I must show I am not only speaking.

I have spent so much of the day weeping.  I do not know what to say.  It keeps getting worse.  Each bit of news is more devastating, reveals more and more the horror of who we are as a nation.  We all own this.  If nothing is done to change it, we are all to blame.

It Is Not Impossible except by choice, we know: it has been done, just never here. We do nothing and so it happens and will again. That is true here, but in other places, they understood, they changed it, and it ended. We never have. I do not trust we ever will.

The unfolding of information about the policy's failure in this case is upsetting, but who can be surprised any longer?  The police are not in business to stop violence, but to maintain the state's monopoly upon it.  If it were otherwise, they would not be given impunity to act with force, but would be held to account at each incident where it was applied.  The events in Uvalde are no anomaly.  That they would not expose themselves to danger to save the students is not a mistake, but how they are intended to operate.

Each Day is only another that they are dead, is one less until  it comes again, another, more. We know.  We know it will not end here: nothing will be done that will end this. We ask why, but we know is because  they will not act. They say it must change but refuse to do anything that will help. They must want it this way. They do not help because it is not best for them. The do nothing because they do not want  to change things. This is how they want it to be.

On Monday, I found out that my cousin's wife is pregnant.  It should be joyous news, is joyous news, but who can think of it that way?  All I wonder is what they will say to their little one when this happens again, because we know it will.  It has happened so many times, their is no doubt it will not end unless action is taken, and we know that their isn't the will to do it amongst the political establishment in this country.  So, this will happen again.  Maybe it will be tomorrow.  I already heard about a gunman showing up at another school today who was arrested before they hurt anyone, though it apparently required students and teachers to hide in classrooms for an extended period.  I can't help but wonder the world this child is coming into, what it will be for them.  Children know they are not safe.  They know these things happen, go through training drills like I remember having to do in case of a fire.  What will they say?  Even if their child is lucky enough to nev

Reform They speak of it, at first, maybe it seems possible, a consideration. It will be taken up, they might say, but they keep talking, talking of the problem, of respect and timing, or they begin as if  they know it cannot be or will not work or is not right, or offer a defense of not acting, not  doing what is needed, speak of allowing it to be as it has been. They shift the blame, they cast aspersions, claim to be defenders, claim nothing will work, nothing can be done that will make it better. They will say  what they have said before, and nothing will change, again. It will remain as it has been, just as it has each time before, no one moves a hand or walks forward. Nothing is done.

All this is too exhausting, all of it.  The theatre of care that will be presented, the unactioned speech, the prayers that never soothe, that come in place of actual help.  What will be done?  What will be done and not merely said?  It has been too long.  It has been decades of this, decades where you might be shot at the supermarket or at the movies, when children must fear their own classrooms.  He, too, was just a boy.  That is not to dismiss it, to excuse or pardon, but we must ask ourselves what it means when our youth claim each others lives this way.  We must wonder what it says that our society produces this, and not only once, but again and again.  We do nothing, though, we ask none of the questions.  Will anything change this time?  I do not have much hope, and I am so tired of feeling hopeless.  If nothing changes, if those in power now can do nothing, if this system we have built will not respond, that must be understood.  We must realize that it means we have failed.  If

What Can Be Said Tonight?   I do not know. I do not want to speak of it, but what else is there?  It is everything, is all that can be, tonight.  A boy, barely more than a boy, and he killed so many, killed children who barely knew their right hand from their left.  What hope is there for a better future when it is slaughtered and, also, slaughterer?

I had another long day, but at least I got myself to work early.  As well, I think I have the idea for a good, topical prose piece that I want to begin work on.  I should probably be writing it tonight, but it is already after midnight and I've had so many late one's, I am going to risk it.  I think it will be alright, so long as I get to it tomorrow.  I don't want to go too far into describing it here, but the concept has to do with some of the far right conspiracy theories that have been coming up lately, about how so many of these ideas connect and in what ways, and about the ways that the structure of those theories creates friction between the communities being harmed by these narratives.  It is a complicated piece, but I think I have a good grasp on it, at least on how and where I want to begin, which is the first thing I will need when I sit down to work on it tomorrow.

This Year No berries have come, have grown out of the great bush, though they were there last year, so many of them, sweet and perfect. I do not know why  they are missing this time, what was done, or never done. They should grow each year, I think that is the way of it, but I have not seen them, have seen no sign of their arrival. The bush is only leaves now.

Another night that I allowed to get way too late.  I was distracted and didn't think about it.  It has already been a long day.  We went to the Greek Church this morning for the service.  The sanctuary was quite hot, and someone actually fainted during the service, but there was a doctor present and they seemed to be okay after a short while.  After the service, there is a small breakfast reception and we were given a reserved table in Ann's honor, to have some coffee and pastry, which was very nice, especially the pastry which I believe are made by congregants who volunteer in the kitchen.  I think that cooking is a major thing for the church, to be honest, as they (as many other Greek churches do) have a large festival once a year where they sell large quantities of food.  I gather that much of it also prepared by these same volunteers, mostly little old Greek ladies.  Melissa is always telling me that they cook all year to prepare for the festival.   I do wish that I had got

I Do Not Understand Why I Go It is not a pleasure to be there and I am not comfortable, not in that place.  It may be I do not want to be here, not in this place, not so much. It is not right here, though it is not right there, either, and that is the same wrong in two places, is the same act that made it so.  It may be that. I do not know.  I do choose, at times, that it might be good, that it might be beneficial, might help to heal these wounds. It never does, though. It seems only to continue. I do not want to be there, but here is not right  and is never right.   I have said it all before, have said it many times. I hope going is a good thing, brings something positive to change these conditions, but I cannot imagine it. Still, I try to be hopeful, at least in that I go.

Tomorrow morning, Melissa and I are going to a service at the Greek Orthodox Church where they will do a memorial prayer for her mother.  I should already be in bed, sleeping, but my brother's friend came into town and I wound up hanging out late to see him for a bit.  I should be fine, but I need to get to sleep soon.  I wish I were better at time management, but that's another of those executive function things, at least in part.  

He Arrived, at Last after his message that he was not coming, and the days of delays, a confusion of itineraries. I thought he would be here a day ago, maybe two, and tonight he cancelled, said he could not come, but then, an hour later, photo of his ticket taken at the airport. He has arrived and it is good to see him, and a surprise, an exhausting surprise.

Melissa and I were rear ended while driving on the highway this afternoon, around 3:30.  We were driving home on the highway and it was poring rain and traffic was not moving all that fast.  We were slowing to a stop when we heard it coming in, the squealing of rubber as the driver applied the brake hard as possible, but too late.  When it hit, I was certain we would spin out or get injured somehow, maybe veering into another lane or into the divider.  Fortunately, we stayed in our lane and were able to pull over safely.  We both are okay, were able to walk away uninjured, but even so, we are both shaken.

Family She did warn me, called him, "sketchy," said he has always been, "even as a kid," but I was taken aback, and I was not up for it, had already been overwhelmed. The day had been bad, even before this it had been a bad day. By ten or eleven it had been bad. He was unpleasant and did not seem kind, only wanted to talk, really to shout. We wound up paying his bar tab just to leave.

We had some work being done at the house today that required shutting off power to the house.  Of course, it was also around a hundred degrees outside, so the house was sweltering and when we got home tonight, we found that the power was on, but not to the air conditioner, so the house is brutally hot.  We called up to get help from the people doing the work and they said someone was coming, but he never arrived and when I spoke to the company about it, they weren't able to reach him.  I am a bit concerned that something happened to him, to be honest.  Hopefully, he will be back tomorrow morning, but at the moment, I cannot help but be a bit concerned that he has gone missing on the way to our home.

I Do Not Want to Wake Here but I had to come, had to go from where I was to someplace, had no choice but to leave there and it meant being here, being in this place through the night. Will I even sleep? Will it be worse if I do? Will there be dreams I do not want to have, even worse  than other nights in other places? I do not want to sleep here. I fear the morning and waking to remember just where I am.

My mother and I had an upsetting conversation today, in which I kind of let loose about a lot of the things that are bothering me and how I feel.  She does not want to hear it.  I know she doesn't.  Her response when I express that I am hurting, especially if it involves blaming her in any way, is to attack me for even having those feelings.  I am the one hurting her by saying this, and she just gets angry about it.  I think that I might have gotten through a bit, but I don't know what to say or do, to be honest.  I want to be able to make things better, to talk with her honestly and get through this, but it feels impossible.  Even if we discuss it all and come to some sort of understanding, I don't know what it will really mean, how it will make things better.  So much has already been done that is permanent, that cannot change.  I know that it is important to get through to her, that it might make a difference in ways I can't imagine right now, might change some of th

I Must Admit to What Is Good Must not hold only the pain.  It does not help. The pain is easy to find, I know.  I find it, it finds me, too.  I hurt, and so I know.  The world has such cruelty, now. The news is never kind. But that cannot be all. That cannot be it, can it? I must find something. It is not good to know only the pain.   Why even keep going if that is all that can be found? I must allow joy, even now, must allow some kind of light or I will forget what darkness even is.

I have been struggling with a mild headache this evening.  It is not terrible, but it is enough that I just want to lay my head down and close my eyes.  It slowed me down a bunch, in terms of getting to work tonight, ironically.  I sat down to start work and just couldn't get myself to focus.  I should probably cut myself a bit of slack when I am not feeling well, but I still worry, even after so long, that one or two days of not writing is all it would take to stall me again.  I have a great deal of difficulty, even now, with work other than poetry much of the time, and I remember all the years I had when I was not so productive, the struggle it took to build up a process and a routine that worked for me.  I am afraid that it would be too easy to slip backwards again, though I know that is probably silly.  I have certainly skipped a night or two in the past, often by accidental oversight, but still, I haven't made a habit of it.  Anyhow, I am done now, at least, and can get to

I Am Not Finding Those Answers You asked me to find it, to seek inside myself the possibility, but I cannot.  It is not there. I think I cannot be helped. I know it is not right, that I am not alright and nothing is getting better. I know.  I do not have answers. You do not have them, either. You asked me to seek inside myself, to find the way it can be different, to find a change I can make to it that is within myself.  It is not there. Maybe, I am a fool, or choosing this. It is possible.  I can be stubborn, I know, can be the obstacle I stumble over, have tripped on my own foot more than once, not only as a metaphor.   Still, I do not know what I can do. I will not accept these things, that they are this way is not acceptable and to remain in this situation is never a choice for me, is only a prison.  I need a choice to not be in this situation and that is not a choice I can make, is not a thing that I can choose, can change. The only thing worse than fighting it is to stop fighting

Melissa is finally testing negative, as of this afternoon; I also took a test this afternoon and remain negative, as well, so things will finally be getting back to normal around here, and I am glad for that.  It has been quite difficult, and I have felt very ill equipped to deal with it all, if I am honest.  I often get overwhelmed by stuff and am not able to cope, and it gets to be a lot to deal with, which I know is not easy for Melissa, either, when she has to deal with it, but it is quite hard for me when I am by myself, as well.  Some of it, I think, grows out of my neurodiversity, and some may just be my own neurosis, but it can be difficult to manage, and not having Melissa's support makes it harder.  I know I need to learn to cope in better ways, if I am honest, and I want to, but I don't know how realistic that can always be, especially if it is based in my brain.  I wonder if that is an excuse, though, if I am honest.

Taking Action I know it must be done and that I must do it, that is the thing that is so clear. It is now, and now may even be late, is late, is not early, but it is time that it is done and now is when it can be, is when it is, when I have, when it can be done. It can't be earlier and waiting: that is no good, of course it is not. Pay attention to the world. It is not a time for waiting. The time must be now. To wait will be doom. It is time, and it must be done. How?  Everything is clear, but for what and how.

Melissa is going to take another test tomorrow and I am hoping it will be negative, at last.  It seems reasonable, considering that ten days is the advised length for quarantining and she has been sick almost two weeks at this point.  I need to take another test as well, I think, as a precaution.  I've not been symptomatic, but I am in the house and exposure is a realistic possibility.  I am hopeful that I will be alright, though.  It would really be great, though, to be able to spend time with Melissa again.  I have been going a bit batty dealing with all of this, if I am honest, and I know that it is impacting her far more, of course.  She has been spending almost twenty four hours in that bedroom and I really think she needs a bit of relief from that.  Keeping my fingers crossed that tomorrow is the day.

Everything Takes Too Long At Your House Why is it so long to do anything  at your house? Time seems slowed and then it is too late and nothing is done, nothing is concluded. It is never right. I do not understand why this happens when I am at your house. I do not want to be there  for so many hours, do not intend to stay, but everything drags, everything is so slow. I look at the clock again and it is too late by the time we have started.

I have been feeling really down the past week or two.  I am certain that much of it is not being able to spend time with Melissa, but I know there are other things bothering me right now, as well, specific issues with things that have been going on in my family.  I don't know that I want to write it all out, but it is bothering me a great deal.  A lot of it is the way my mother and brother act, not only in terms of their actions towards me, but the way that they function as a team in a way that is very explicit and exclusionary.  My brother will deny this entirely, though he plays into it and benefits from it all the time, and behaves as if it is just the normal way of things.  My mother is very clear about it, to be honest, and he has even heard her say, essentially, that they are a team and I am not included, and still denies that this is the case.  It is especially hurtful when they seem to team up on me, when it seems as if my brother is reprimanding me like he is another paren

Tell Me Again how this was the only choice that would work, was the only thing that could suit you, and how that meant I should be glad, though it meant I would be harmed, would be betrayed, though it hurts me each day since. Tell me once more it was the only choice that suited you. Tell me again that world insisted you should harm me, and how that means it was alright.

Melissa is still testing positive right now, so the quarantine continues.  I should probably test again, as well, just to be safe, though we have been staying apart.  We spent a few minutes sitting outside, distanced and with masks and all that, but it was nice to be able to talk and be somewhat together for a bit.  I had hoped she would be able to get out of her quarantine by now, and it seems to be lasting a long time, but at least she doesn't seem to be that ill in terms of her symptoms and everything.  I am sure that it is difficult for her to be stuck in the bedroom so much of the time, and I hope that the little bit of time we can and dare to share makes a difference.  I know that I have been feeling a strain from the isolation, even though I am able to get out a bit at the moment.  I can imagine how much worse it is for her right now.

Isolation It is no good that I go, I know it is not good, does not help that I leave to spend hours over there, but I am lonely without you, without being  with you. I cannot be at your side, and so I go, though I  should stay, I know. It matters, though you are in other rooms, I know it matters that I am here.

I would like to get stuck in on a big progect, but I am not there right now, in some way.  I feel like it would be good for me.  It has the ability to focus the creative energy and to provide a sense of progress within the work that can be satisfying.  While that cannot and won't replace the desire for changes in life and the world, it can be a distraction, to some extent, and the process itself is, for me, always a way to grow and evolve, as an artist, of course, but also in other ways.  I think that, for me, any piece of writing is a self-exploration of a sort, though that is rarely my focus.  In a larger work, the piece can be so consuming, can take on such a large role in one's mind and daily life, that it becomes possible to discover a great deal that might otherwise be hidden.  I do not know how to explain it, but it is the fact that I am distracted and attentive at the same time.  I am not always aware of what, from my life, is going into the piece, am not always aware o

I Do Not Blame You for This for the choice I make, though you allow it and offer the chance that it can be made, you can blame yourself, and if you do, then stop and refuse me. It is not your fault, what I do.  It is not you, not at all you, who makes the choice. It may be  you are blaming yourself and I do not know that I can change that, but if you stop, I will accept it. I will not be happy, but that is my problem. I am trying to change and it is difficult, but what you do is not the problem.

I went to my brother's this evening for dinner and we ended up going out shopping, then cooking a spaghetti dinner.  It is always strange to be there, to do such things.  I am working to try and feel normal about it, but there is always a discomfort that can't be overcome.  I don't think my brother understands that I am putting in an effort to accept this by going there, or recognizes how much it can strain me to spend time there.  I don't know that it matters so much, except that I suspect he thinks my spending time there has a different meaning, will take it as proof that it is a positive he is here, that I am enjoying his presence, when it is more complicated than that.  I do love him and want to spend time with him, and I want to be able to enjoy going to his home and all of it, but he has hurt me in ways I am not even certain he is able to understand.  I want to make it better, which is why I am putting in the effort, but I often feel he thinks he is putting in a h

Do Not Forget Again I tell myself each time I realize I have failed to recall. It must be done. I do not know how to be certain I do not forget again. I would write it down but I wouldn't remember to look at the note.

Melissa tested herself today and the results show that she is still positive for Covid, so she is still isolating.  I am trying to be helpful and to take care of things for her, but I don’t know how good I am at it, really.  I know it has been difficult for her, and she is not able to do a lot for herself, and I should probably be more proactive about taking care of her needs, but it is not easy, especially when I can’t really spend any time around her.  I don’t always know what she needs or when, and I don’t want to bother her when she is resting, which is a lot of what she has been doing, I think.  I have gone to check on her several times when it was clear she just wanted peace and quiet, and so I tried to give it to her, but I am sure there are times when that is not all she wants or needs.  Part of the issue, I think, is she doesn’t always speak up for herself, but I know that is a thing she has trouble with.  It is just hard to accommodate for when we are not even able to spend t

They Will Ask how we allowed  this to happen, how it was we did nothing that stopped it, they will know what we allowed, what happened, what was done. It will be ours, will mark us. If we are to answer we must answer now, before they even ask we must answer.

I took my covid test this morning and was negative, so I was able to get out of quarantine.  Melissa is still isolating at the moment, but she might take a test tomorrow to check her status and then decide what to do.  The doctor recommended that she take ten days, so that might still be the advice, even if she tests negative, but that is assuming her test is negative.  It may be that she is still infectious and has to remain quarantined.  I am being hopeful, though, as it would be nice to be able to spend time with her.  Last night, more than once, I woke from an uneasy dream, confused, at first, that she wasn't there. 

Answering to Myself I must not turn away from the question, not again.  I must find an answer that is not the same one, that is not: there is not an answer.  I have been told that with so many of my own questions and it is never good, is never right. I must not do it to myself, again, must not say there is nothing to be said, though it feels that way. I must sit in the place of not knowing and perhaps that place is the answer itself, the uncertainty may be it, or it will draw me forward, perhaps? I do not know.  I have no answer, now. I will not allow there to be no answer. Mystery, perhaps, (if I can) curiosity?   Are those not better, even  when still to be fulfilled?

I saw my mother very briefly today.  When I called her to say happy Mother's day, we talked a bit and I wound up asking her to pick up a few things at the store for me.  I had been hopeful that my brother would be in touch to help out, but as I mentioned yesterday, he really has not been very interested in assisting.  I just grabbed the bags from her car without spending any time together, as I don't want to expose her, but it was still sort of nice to be able to at least see her.  Isolating is not a lot of fun in general, and even though things with my mom have been difficult, I do care about her.  It might be easier, really, if I didn't care.  I am also feeling pretty upset about not being able to spend any time with Melissa.  This is the first Mother's day since her mom has died, and I am sure that is weighing on her as well.  Indeed, I have been feeling that too, as we did spend a number of Mother's days in Ohio with Ann.  I am sure it hasn't been an easy da

It Will Not Be Returned, There will be nothing that comes from reaching out, only the silence, the knowledge of it, the certainty. It is not the same as the silence that was before, not any longer, no.  It is not the same after this: I know and you know, and still, silence.

I am almost through with my quarantine, I suppose, which is good, though, as I said last night, Melissa is still going to be waiting a few more days.  I have tomorrow and then I will test on Monday and I then I can get out some.  At least it means that I can go to do some shopping, as the options for meals are dwindling.  I asked my brother to help out, but it is clear he finds it a serious imposition.  I don't even want to ask him to help out any more, especially considering that he insisted his buying a house down the street from us would be an opportunity for him to help us out if we needed it.  That is clearly another one of his lies, as every time I've tried to ask him about helping out this week, he has acted as if it is a huge burden.  Well, that may not be entirely fair.  It might not have been that way the first day, when I asked him to pick up Melissa's prescriptions, he was only a bit surly that time.  But since then, it has progressively gotten worse.  And do no

That Poem She Always Reads I want to tell her no, please, do not read that poem tonight, not again, not tonight.  I cannot take it again.  I have heard it, and it is a good poem, yes, strong and impactful, but I cannot hear it tonight: I do not want to hurt again, not that much.  I want to ask, but I know: it is a favorite. Someone else already asked her to be certain to include it. I will not ask, will sit and listen and I will cry again, and after, I will be fine, but it will hurt me. It is a very good poem.

It is strange to be isolating at home.  Melissa and I are both here, but we are staying apart from each other and checking in by telephone.  It will be this way for a few more days.  The doctor told Melissa that she should quarantine for around ten days and that started Wednesday, so she should be free next weekend.  I am supposed to test again on Monday, and if that is good, I should be able to leave quarantine then, though it feels a bit strange.  I suppose I am staying far enough from Melissa that she can't infect me, though I do wonder about it, with our living in the same house right now.  It is worth noting that my office and the bedroom where Melissa is staying are separate, even in terms of the air conditioning and duct work, which does seem to suggest it will be fine, but I don't want to go out and get others sick.  It is not so easy to just stay home, and it is a kind of torture to know that, although Melissa is just down the hallway, I cannot spend time with her righ

Past Mistakes Last night and the night before I forgot the pills I am meant to take before I go to bed.  It has been so long since I had forgotten, I did not think of it, even afterwards, I did not remember what was forgotten, not until today, until just a bit ago.  Tonight I want to remember, to make it right.  I do not know if it can be fixed: it may be too late, or it may not matter for long, not if I begin again tonight and remember tomorrow and the next day.  I do not know what damage I have done but I hope it does not matter. I will do what I can by not repeating the mistake. It may not be enough, but what else can I do?

Melissa says she is feeling quite a bit better already, though we are going to quarantine at least through the weekend.  The doctor did call in a prescription for her yesterday, and it seems to be helping, though I am not certain what, exactly, was prescribed.  Also, my brother's illness was not covid.  He felt much better by this afternoon, and additional testing this afternoon remained negative.  I had been worried that he was sick, and was particularly concerned that I would have complaints that Melissa got him sick on one hand, and Melissa complaining and point out that it's just as likely he infected her considering that they both got ill at the same time.  It does not matter now, because his illness seems unrelated, just coincidentally timed. 

I Have Been Alone through the day, have spent it apart from all the world, sitting here in my own all alone place. It has been silent and beyond the silence has been so noisy, though no one makes a sound or can hear it besides me.  Even were they present, no one would notice. It is all my own.

This morning, Melissa woke up feeling a bit unwell.  She thought it was probably just allergies, but wanted to be cautious and so she took a covid test, which, of course, came back positive.  I have tested negative, but am quarantining as well.  Melissa is down in the bedroom and I am up here in my office.  She seems to be doing alright for the most part, though I do worry about her, especially since I am not actually around her.  It is strange being isolated from one another in the same house, and that might contribute to my discomfort as well.  I need to check in on her again in a little bit to make sure she is doing alright and doesn't need anything. I also just received a text from my brother that he is feeling sick now, though he doesn't think it is covid as it seems to be more of a stomach bug.  He tested earlier today, after I told him Melissa was sick, and it was negative, but I told him to check it again tomorrow.  I know that stomach upset is not the most common covid

Morning Will Come Back and, at least for tomorrow, there will still be birds singing, there will be the light outside and the grass will still be growing, and if it is early enough the vegetal stench will be rising from the ground into the moist air. It will be warm and the air will be thick, heavy and wet.  It will come, another morning, so much alike. Strange that days can start so much the same. 

I do not know what to write tonight.  I've tried to keep this blog small, to focus on things in my own life, to talk about myself and my writing.  I know it is often unfocused, but that is because I've just tried to keep it spontaneous and not plan out too much, so that I can be honest about things and talk about whatever is happening, but I am just not certain how to write about much of anything at the moment.  I am, like so many, terrified for the direction this country is taking, which is not a new feeling, but is certainly one that is more present after the news yesterday.  It was nothing unexpected, but that does not change how devastating it is that it has happened, or is about to happen, as seems to be the case.  That the Democratic response has not been a practical one, but instead seems to show a decided lack of willingness to take action, is again not at all surprising to anyone who has watched the last several years unfold; that does not make it any less damning or u

Too Little Was Done too few standing for, too many rising against. The many must turn up and push back must make them know it cannot be this way. but it was not done, has not been done, or not done enough, no, or by enough of us. They rose.  They still rise and call for more to join who think as they do, who think they can, will win.  Why not? Why would they not? What is against them? We must show them, must stand.  Now, before we cannot.

I was already having a rough evening.  A few hours ago, I received word that Ilja Wachs, one of my favorite college professors, someone who truly affected me in deep ways as a teacher, passed away recently.  I was intending to write a tribute to him tonight, talking about his loving presence and the wisdom he shared as a professor.  I would like to write that piece, but now, I can't focus on it beyond thinking of his liberal values and the love he expressed for all his students.  Tonight's news has me wishing that more people had his values in this world, though I suspect that many do, perhaps even most people.  It is not a matter of who believes what, right at this moment, it is a matter of who is in the position to take action and who is willing to.  I hope we find that their is a greater strength and resilience in this nations leaders, that they can use this moment as an opportunity to take action against what we are warned is coming.  Really, I don't know what can be do

More Will Be Taken Not only this, not only these rights.  This tests, tells them what is possible. Soon, they will come again, will raise up the knives again, already sharpened, practiced, honed against the steel until they are straight. Do not forget that. It will not be this, this will be the start. We must not wait, must not pretend  we do not know, cannot tell what is next, what will be.  They come, they always have come, have been coming, and now?  They have this and know they can have, know that it is all cracking, that it will fall apart so they may take each piece. They want it all to be their own and to be the way they want it. They cannot call it a free country unless it is their being free from what they do not want. They will take it all, will take what I have and you have. I do not want to think, one day, we let it all be taken, we could have done more but now it is too late.

I tend to think of realism as being more about conventions in the use of language to depict the world than as having to do with the world itself.  For example, I know that many will speak of certain kinds of qualities in a story's plot or character's, or certain levels and types of details, as being important elements of realism.  In similar ways, the logic of the world itself, the way that events interconnect and unfold, how the world responds to the character's actions and what and why those characters chose to do in the first place.  To me, though, a piece can be realistic or unrealistic while including any of these elements, depending upon whether the telling is itself conventional.  The elements of the fictional world are not what defines realism, at least for me.  For me, realism is a set of conventions, as I said.  I can point to works that have the kinds of characters and interactions mentioned above, but depicted using non-traditional means, and that alters the per

That Same Shadow Floats Across The Wall or maybe a different one cast again in that place and into the same darkness with the same shape that moves as the last one did, but it may not be the same shadow, just another that is the same. Does it even matter if it is the same shadow? What would make it the same one? I mean, is it the light or the thing casting it? I call each shadow I cast, mine, but is each one another that is mine as well or the same one that comes with me and comes out again and again in different places and times. Is there a difference? It is a shadow.  It is an absence, a marking of light that has been stolen away by some form that intercedes between source and surface. It is only an absence that we have named, an absence with a form and the capacity to move and dance. I have seen the shadows dance their empty dances. It is a thing that happens, at certain times. Does it make them anything more, or is it only an accident, an illusion? Are they even less than an absenc