My dystopian future
Stories that are getting the most love. Or attention. Or something.
Saturday December 26 2020 Marks the spot. This appeared over my house. #truestory No more waiting to be marked. My spiral has closed. Since March I've avoided large gatherings, worn a face mask in public, washed my hands and used copious amounts of hand sanitizer, along with my new prescription of eczema meds because I … Continue reading 122. Oh, hello. I’ve been expecting you
Tuesday November 17 2020 A nurse in South Dakota has the night off. She settles back into her sofa, dog curled by her side. The coping mechanism for tonight is a bowl of Oreo ice cream as she replays her last hospital shift in her mind. Something’s off, and honestly, things have been off balance … Continue reading 114. Palliative Nursing
Friday November 13 2020 Yeah, so it’s Friday the 13th. Don’t sweat it though. A day designated to misfortune and chaos has long since lost its powers to the hot trots of 2020. For example, let’s recap just this past week, ok? Alex Trebek passed away and I can’t talk about it.I desperately wanted to … Continue reading 113. Superstition #13
Sunday May 24 2020 According to the chief creative officer of The New York Times, it’s been at least forty years since the newspaper’s front page didn’t have any images or photos. So, today’s front page is remarkable with displaying only text; a listing one thousand names of people chosen to represent the loss of … Continue reading 31. Personifying a number
Saturday April 4 2020 Ohio Confirmed cases: 3,739Deaths: 102 On March 14th, we had lunch at China Star. Let’s support small business, I say. Screw this fear factor shit we’ve had shoved down our throats. I’m not afraid, I say. We’ve been customers of this restaurant for at least twenty years. The latest owner is … Continue reading 5. Sure, but who’s doing the dishes?
I know. I’m late in starting this journal, but really these past few weeks have been the boiling frog analogy. I’m just a stupid amphibian pushing myself around in circles in the stockpot. I don’t trust the signs that things are getting hot until I get really uncomfortable.
