I have nowhere to return to. It’s like a state of imprisonment. The walls of the cell are the horizon of what I can see. Beyond them exists a world that’s alien to me and doesn’t belong to me. So for people like me the only thing possible is here and now, for every future is doubtful, everything yet to come is barely sketched and uncertain, like a mirage that can be destroyed by the slightest twitch of the air. That’s what was going through my mind as we sat there in silence. It was better than a conversation. – Olga Tokarczuk, Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead
Today was the best day I have had since May 13th at the latest.
Best day since November, 2019, early as that.
A few weeks later now, can’t even remember that day or why it was “the best.”
I count both Trump and DeSantis and their viral pandemic as a time of war.
Throw in the worst flu and the hernia operation that lasted too long and the week in the hospital and the dog attack and Covid and the Insurrection and foot surgery.
Doubtlessly forgot something or two. Rats.
Speaking of rodents, I am capable of ignoring the dittohead behind me with all his brand-new flags. Trump/DeSantis 2024 and Don’t Blame Me, I Voted For Trump. Could even ignore his FUCK BIDEN flag.
Until the wife comes home and tells you she took a closer look and there are more words in fine print.
FUCK BIDEN. And fuck you if you voted for him.
I’ll be honest. Thought I was plenty busy just getting old.
Didn’t know how good I had it.
You got your health, you got everything. Maybe not everything but enough.
Went out to our first restaurant meal since March 12, 2020.
Bang Bang Shrimp tacos with two vodka tonics. First hard liquor of the year.
That was July 8th. Our wedding anniversary.
Forty-six years for her, thirty years for me and fifteen for us.
The third marriage is best, I tell total strangers.
And she says, oh, then I can hardly wait for my next.
The color on the local Covid virus map began to darken that evening.
A black red, the color of old blood.
Since this whole damn thing started, we went out once.
Once. Just that once.
Once.
Haven’t been out since. More dangerous every day.
More dangerous.
May 14th was my foot surgery and a good day was a distant goal.
Older you get, the longer the pole dangling the carrot.
March 12, 2020, is the day after I got my hair cut last.
I look like a guy you would help across the street.
Or bet your buddy I won’t make it across safely on my own.
But I am moving and walking Ragnar and hot tubbing.
Feel blessed “simply” to take a hot shower.
Just not having that damn fucking boot on.
Life is hard enough.
I am digressing from my digression.
Point is, the pandemic goes on, seems to be the way our governor likes it, but our quarantine is over.
Too old to be boxed up too long.
My whole life been about not going to jail or a mental institution.
You know, places where you can’t leave the house.
Not for me.
And the neighborhood is going downhill, as wealthier white people flood in.
It’s one thing for folks to flee blue states to settle in this Congressional district, it’s not so easy in the opposing direction.
Maybe pretend me and the missus are Afghani maybe.
Republicans don’t even clean their Poopsie’s dog-shit off the street or in other folks’ yards.
Obvious metaphor.
Read this and weep for good people stuck with no safe way to get to a sane location.
Florida is so bad, we feel we’ll be safer elsewhere.
Looking for a place where vaccinated people wear masks, which cover the nose even.
Thinking about a town that trusts the government and believes in science.
Or reality.
Like an colorized episode of the Twilight Zone, I’ll just show up magically.
Magic.
Because you have to believe in something.