How do you self medicate (aside from the alcoholic factor, of course)? When there is no 108 degrees of yoga to be had. No gym. No reason to buy a dress. Or boots. No facial I can splurge to get, no hands on me of any kind that I can get for love or money or even just for the fuck of it. I hope it gets a little better now that the weather has finally broken, but. I believe that the pandemic is about to get exponentially worse. That, in fact, what I am witnessing is a moment in history when a populist sociopath will have killed millions of people right in front of the world's eyes. That and the unrelenting emotional onslaught of half grown children whose present and futures were just snatched, living close enough to torture me but too far to hug them. Well, let's just say that no number of hanging baskets of flowers are a match for that re my mental health, which is nooooot gooood.
Gotta hand this one to Nebraska. I told him how I used to sew bedding ensembles. That my beds were a work of art. But I don't have a sewing machine anymore, I wept one day, and no way to go to a fabric store either, wherein lay the pleasure by half, letting my eyes just feast on flowered textiles. I liked ensembles that didn't quite match because then my eyes had things to choose from to look at, to make me happy. Which I am not. I have no color even, there is only gray, I sobbed. So, he sent me a bed of flowers
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| "light reflecting off sequin pillow" |
