The weirdest part is this was always how it was going to be. I had plots and plans for these past months in February, but now they seem like clouds. Not laughable, not sad. Translucent and cold. I am mad beyond words at what my government did and continues to do to its people, my neighbors. I am made and awake. I thought I was awake before. Then I woke up and dreamt of being awake. So for the people who are really and truly struggling and dying, I would wish for a time machine. I can't think of a worse way to go, alone, kissing loved ones goodbye over FaceTime. It breaks my heart.
But for me, I don't know how else to say, I am grateful it is happening. I am blessed to be more radical, to have been trapped in a corner of reading what is the universe literature, to have written the scariest play I've ever written and shed more relationships I don't need. Blessed by how many times I've swam this summer (even yesterday). Blessed to question how often I didn't eat at home. Blessed to be with Puhg a kajillion minutes a day. To have tried new things--like the swam boats at Echo Park and site-specific theatre on a hiking trail. To have been in forest cabin and a on the balcony of a beach inn.
I mourn our trip to Japan. I fear I'll never do the work I want to do again. Maybe my weekly theatre closed. History collapsed. It happened faster than I would have thought I could handle, but I did handle it, so that must mean something.
Weeks to lose my mind and weeks to sleep too much. Writing horror feature for no one and phone calls to anyone. There's this pervasive idea that we've lost all this time and experience, but I feel like I've experienced more in most days than ever before because it's just us in here--me and my soft squishy brain. Fewer distractions than ever, I haven't always been happy, but it does feel right.
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