…that sometimes, they were happy. There is so much to miss re: life before quarantine that finding oneself feeling good, while in it, can come as a shock. Yesterday, for example, was the official start of my daughter’s summer and it was, well, lovely. The hours–even minutes–passed at a leisurely pace, even more so than a usual Saturday. There were no forgotten online assignments to track down; no flooded inboxes; no Brain Pop, Splash Learn, Freckle, or other inane platforms to remember and toggle between. The heat had arrived, along with the mosquitoes, but both belong here and we went outside, anyway. Meals also punctuated the day in such a welcome, ritualistic way that I took notice. Perhaps because it was exactly one year ago now that I finished radiation and found myself floundering without them. Everything I consumed then was liquid, meager, awful to taste, and painful to swallow. The fact that I can enjoy all foods again is something to celebrate, so I am by noting it here. I hope I don’t forget how I felt last night while preparing dinner–how happy and at ease, despite everything–because such moments are rare, for me and for so many others suffering, each in their own way, at this time. My daughter thundered around the living room in her gymnastics unitard, dead fucking serious about the improvised routine she was performing for no one, while my husband folded laundry to a delightfully random playlist of his choosing–Curtis Mayfield, Procol Harum, the Beatles–and I thought, yes. This is it. This is everything.
Cancer, conundrums, cartoons
Well, then 