Pandemic Days

I can write okay, except when I can’t.

I haven’t seen another person aside from my partner in almost two months, which feels a little crazy making.

Some days, I write all day, look back at the pages, and still feel like I got nothing done.  Some days I stare at a blank journal.

Sometimes making lists helps.

List One:

5/1/20 (Late at night)
I miss:
Crossing the Los Angeles County line (Any time of year, or day)
Avi’s cassette copy of the first Motley Crue record, played loud, while Crossing the Los Angeles County line.
Jacob, talking about The Cure
Luna, in the passenger seat
My Elders
Budd Inlet
Priest Point
Crain
Gas Pump Graveyard (Gone)
That one Secret Spot under the 6th Avenue Bridge in Denver (Also Gone)
Shows
Punk
Punks
Skinheads
Friends in general
Lexington Avenue
Malibu, with Pocket
Pocket
That Malibu Taco spot, with Pocket

List Two:

5/2/20 (AM)
In My Head:
Summer of 2013
Seven years bad luck (are they related?)
The end of the world
The desert
The mountains
The Ocean
Rust
That time C and I were in the desert, and Hope got her little face in a cactus and we had to pull the barbs out with my Leatherman and Hope was such a trooper about it
How I should call C
Worrying about Hope on the stairs
Dirty’s weird toenail in my bedside drawer, next to the dildos.
New Wave
No Wave
Darkwave
Anxiety Anxiety Anxiety!
Shaving my head again
How stubble feels on my face now
As opposed to 7-8 years ago
It’s pretty okay actually
And I can deal
I don’t hate being man adjacent
The way I used to
I exist in a body
And turns out, I like it just fine
The world still
Freaks me right
The fuck out
Especially these days
I don’t leave my house enough
I guess I haven’t had a lot
Of Say in that lately

The Rust Belt

I had a dream last night
About my best friend
How maybe I should write
The two of us another story
This one will be fiction too
I want to write us something new
A story about our lives
With all the tragedy excised

Because
We have both
Had enough of all that.

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