Memoirous

A short story: my friend’s 11 year-old daughter said that she has to leave her cell phone in a bucket by the door to her classroom. Like some old lady I said that they didn’t have those when I was in school. She responded, “Buckets?” Yeah, it’s funny, but also speaks volumes into our current political/global situation—without context there is no understanding. We shake our heads: How are we going to describe someday life under a pandemic? I can add to that a long list of other things that unless you lived through it no one would understand. I certainly don’t understand and I’m living it right now. How 72 million people could have voted for a man who said he likes to grab pussy, paid off porn stars, and even said his own daughter was hot. How Christians can vote for someone so diametrically opposite of what/who a Christian should be and say they are voting their conscience, their values. How folks can vote against their better interests by trying to overturn the Affordable Car...

What might be: King Charles III, a meta play As readers of this blog might have already guessed I’m intrigued by meta literature. One reason I’ve also been loving McSweeney ’s lately. It’s a sort of meta comedy or satire when a journal decides to run Trump’s Black History Month speech in its entirety—as humor. The whole meta thing seems to fit into what’s going on right now. I mean a reality TV star becomes president. He says something is fake or declares suddenly top-secret intel is now declassified. Climate change is a hoax, as also is his campaigns involvement with Russia. Up is down and down is up. When people talk about surreal, then I immediately think they’re talking about this administration. I’ve told a few close friends this: I grew up with an illogical mother. It was hard on a day to day basis to ever know what she might do. One might think it was a mother/daughter thing—I know I tried to believe this—but through the years I saw that at times her thinking was di...

I usually don’t dream. I think it comes from being sleep-deprived. Once I hit the pillow, I’m gone. They come before the alarm. And now with the daylights savings time—or whatever place we’re in, ordinary time—it’s getting light earlier. I awake panicky, thinking I’ve overslept. Anyway, I remember 2 dreams from this week. One was PTS. Post-Trump Syndrome. I must’ve been watching the news before bed because I dreamed ICE was pursuing me. Ironically, I was a dreamer. So in my dream, I dreamed I was a dreamer—my dream about to disappear. Then the alarm went off. The second dream took a little longer. I remember setting it up. It took awhile to get everything into place for the dream or fantasy/story to begin. In fact, I remember thinking in the dream that this reminds me of Grace, my daughter. She’d get out all her Fissher-Price peoples, get them set up, get the drama ready and—lo and behold—it was time to clean up, time for bed, dinner, bath. Some impending interruption that ...