Also, here's a highku, because April is also National Poetry Month.
hotboxing my dog
think he might just be a narc
he's on Prozac now
And one more:
who smoked all the weed
why is the dog throwing up
guess he's not a narc
Today's prompt comes from multi-hyphenate writer, editor, podcaster, visual artist, and actress Fariha Róisin.
Prompt: Look back on the past few weeks and consider what has felt momentous for you. What have you let go of, surrendered, only to learn from? Has anything felt fated, or fallen into place? Write from the depths of that knowing. Of trusting the signs. Explain what you’ve witnessed in yourself. What tiny revolution have you faced?
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Nashville was hit by a tornado around 1 AM on March 3rd. Before the interior of the country was thinking seriously about coronavirus, my little corner of the world was picked up, shaken down, slapped around, and slammed to the ground. In a matter of minutes, the danger had passed, and the people came together to heal and repair.
A week later, the shutdowns began. Now we sit in our separate spaces, licking our wounds in solitude as we wait out a much more protracted peril.
Some of us say that sheltering in place feels like life in a war zone. There's the meme about sucking it up because Anne Frank hid in silence in a 450 square foot attic with 7 other people for two years, without Amazon Prime or beer delivery. As if our experiences, however unfamiliar or harrowing they may be, could ever compare.
However, I think about the war comparison each time I leave my apartment. We're all inside fighting, or hiding from, an unseen and figurative war. Where I live, a few blocks from my home, piles of bricks and broken glass and half-collapsed buildings strip away the metaphor.
I have made discoveries about myself during this time. It's either resilience or delusion, but at the moment, I'm okayish. I thrive on routine, so I've been making a daily schedule/docket of shit to do. Ticking off little things, like 'eat breakfast,' holds me accountable for behaving like a civilized adult human.
I've been focusing on what has to be done and what makes me happy, and damn the rest. Aside from work, it's mostly reading, writing, cooking, and exercising. I've fully neglected makeup, not that I wore a ton to begin with. I haven't touched my blowdryer in over a month, nor have I plucked my eyebrow, which is now a singular entity.
The most profound truth I've had to confront is that Andy and I will someday have to be caretakers and advocates for our parents. Somewhere in the week between the tornado and the shutdowns, each of us got into screaming matches on the phone with both sets of parents. We begged and threatened them to cancel upcoming travel plans.
I doubt screaming, "Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND? You CANNOT [get on an airplane/bungee jump/invest your life savings with a Nigerian prince who emailed you]," will always work on our parents. This time, however, the cognitive dissonance of being parented by their own children was enough. They listened. They stayed home. They are behaving, treading water in the uncertainty like all of us.
Pluck your caterpillar and keep reading the riot act to those crazy kids your trying to raise
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