Dear Diary (Newsletter)

I saw the picture of the boy with the blown-up face first thing in the morning. Downstairs, in my kitchen, waiting for the coffee to drip. I’d brought my kid his bagel and yogurt and blueberries. I’d selected the day’s mug, a black one from the Roadkill Café in Seligman, Arizona, where me and my husband had stopped for breakfast during a Covid roadtrip. The waitress encouraged us to not wear our masks – this was a spot that prized freedom.

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Happy Taurus Season. I celebrated by setting my alter up with fresh variety of rocks – all my earthy-colored stones and petrified wood, plus a pile of pyrite to call in earthly abundance and a bunch of red stones – my fave – because Taurus might not be a fire sign, but coming right after Aries, they’re charged with grounding all that blazing energy and keeping it burning.

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Greetings from the air.Isn’t it wild that humans can fly? Way up high, in the sky? Even as I sit right here, doing it, it’s sort of unfathomable that humans figured this out. People with, architecturally speaking, essentially the same brain as me. I often think about that really offensive Camille Paglia quote, that if women ran things we’d all still be living in grass huts etc. etc. - I think I am one of the women she is speaking of.

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This morning I sat in bed – which is new, the bed is. Let me take a detour before I’ve even begun. I saw the bed frame on the Instagram of a local thrift store. It’s a fucking cloud. Like, it is a giant, bulky, white bedframe, all rounded edges with attached floating bedside tables, white lacquer, 1980s, in the shape of a giant cloud. Could you die. I did die. King size, like our mattress. I sent the store a desperate message, and they responded after closing with, It’s still here.

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Dear Diary, It’s been a long time. When I’m not writing, as I haven’t been this past month, my mind is a hoarder’s house of half-baked ideas, real-time narration, revelations on how to change the tone/tense/angle/person of my book/s again to really make it perfect – in short, it’s a fucking mess.

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