This is the first time I’ve gone to the dermatologist and not had to have some part of my skin cut off. It’s an experience like no other; going in covered in wet fear, sweat, waiting for scalpels and diagnoses that don’t come. It’s relief you didn’t even know you were waiting for.
Living in a neighborhood where no one looks like you is freeing. These people could be my friends. I could be their friend, too, and we could open doors for each other and embrace each other like we’ve never had. Or at least, maybe like I’ve never had.
Running into old friends after two years of ethereal silence – a silent world outside but a screaming, chaotic world on the television; a world that promised to get better as you got older and only got worse, or at least, got unexpected. The linear “you’ll-have-friends-for-life-from-college” got broken into snippets, and maybe it wasn’t a pandemic but just a world of gray that you were promised was black and white and would only get more black and white. You’d rather have been promised the grays; maybe you’d be less angry.
And, I must sneak in an update on my very resilient catnip plant: (thank you for reading my writing)