Writing, editing, and the arts in general may prove to be more valuable than ever, with people being quarantined or staying home out of an abundance of caution.
I’ve been listening to Caitlin Doughty’s Smoke Gets in Your Eyes after burning through most of her videos this week. Her frank and unflinching approach to death…… Read more “This Mortal Coil of Mine”
This year has been a blazing furnace of insanity. The world is burning, but this time we did start the trashfire—or at least we insisted on fanning the flames. Fortunately, the world hasn’t ended quite yet, and while we are facing a time of great change, there is also tremendous potential and hope.
That is what I love so much about winter—not the season itself but the dramatic change in the world around me and the shifts they inspire within me. Winter is my annual reset button.
Over and over again, I’ve wondered when I might go and what I might leave behind. There will be no brood of brats to carry on my name, probably just a yowling cat, a pile of artwork, a jumble of Viking re-enactment gear, and a shit-ton of unfinished or unpublished stories, articles, and poems. And probably my half-eaten corpse. (I’ve been thinking I should invest in one of those automatic cat food dispensers.) But honestly, I do ask myself what I want to achieve and what contributions I want to make to the world, even if “the world” is just my little circle of friends and family.
Sleeping is something other people do. Today, eating falls into the same category. My body tells me I’m hungry, and then tells me it won’t eat anything. Between the not eating and the not sleeping, I’m not exactly in top shape. Throw in the migraine that’s been creeping up on me and I’m pretty much just fried. I need a nap. A nice, long dirt nap. Wake me up when this life is over.
John Lennon once said “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.” Well, I’ve made plans—lots and lots of plans—and a whole lot of life happened instead.