I can't do it anymore.
What's happening?
I can't do it anymore.
Where are you?
I'm driving.
Where?
I don't know. Anywhere.
You should pull over.
I can't do it anymore.
It's too much.
Yeah.
It's too much for all of us.
Yeah, it's always been too much.
Yeah.
Yeah.
The yeah yeah yeahs.
How's Sophie, he texts.
Fine
Then,
nothing.
A nasty toxic red tide we see during the day on the beach in southern California turns into a glowing blue -- what? Phosphorescence. Some people call it magical. I'm transfixed less by the blue emanating from dolphins and water in moonlight than the transformation itself. The smell of decay masked by light. It doesn't seem possible so I guess, magic.
How's Sophie, he texts.
She's running a fever. No other symptoms. I will talk to the doctor tomorrow.
Then,
nothing.
People on cell phones bore me. The people I can't see and the people I can see. The head low like a horse without the velvet nose. I'd like to see some teeth, the huge yellow ones biting an apple.
Anger.
Red tide. Decay. Stink.
Phosphorescence is light emitted after exposure to radiation.
It's produced by something that doesn't flame or heat.
(BTW, Sophie had a fever last week for three days with no other symptoms. She also stopped having seizures which is always the case for her. I wondered if she had The Virus. I wondered whether she'd die, but I wonder (this) (whether she'll die) every single day. The parenthetical. My powers of dissociation are strong. I had my first tele-health meeting with The New Physician. She took up 1/2 of the rectangle that is my phone screen. She wore a white lab coat and stood in front of an examining table with a blood pressure machine on the wall behind her. I wondered if it were a backdrop, one of those screens you can put up behind you while you Zoom. My students do that. One of them has the Tiger King guy behind him, the stripes playing light across his face. Wavy. We're reading The Crucible. The student can't believe I refuse to watch Tiger King. Why not? he asks. Why? I say. What's a crucible? he asks. A container that holds high temperatures, metals melting. The doctor says, I wouldn't test her because it's so uncomfortable. I imagine driving in a line of cars into Dodger Stadium with Sophie in the back of the car in her wheelchair. Would someone open the door and have to swab her? I read somewhere the nasal swab felt like it touched my brain.
)
How's Sophie, he texts.
Fine. (I am, too.)
Then,
nothing.
I'm outside today picking mint from the garden. I rip it up take a huge bunch inside and wash it in the sink. The apple tree has blossoms and every succulent has a bloom. The sky is blue and a velvet hummingbird sideswipes my nose, I hear it coming. Hear it here.
Pandemic on top of the weight of it always being too much is just a lot to bear Dear Elizabeth... I have no Words of comfort really, just a Virtual Hug.
ReplyDeleteTexting continued :
ReplyDeleteAnd how are you?
You are always there for her, our daughter.
I know I let you all down. I'm so so sorry.
I wish I could change. Show up for you more.
Nothing stays the same. I hope.
X
So I assume the fever has subsided, which is good news. As Bohemian said, on top of the stresses of your usual daily life that had to be a lot to handle! Texting is always a substandard method of communication. It's never very fulfilling.
ReplyDeleteWhat could I say that would provide any sort of balm?
ReplyDeleteYou are doing a good, impossible job.
I don't know anything about your ex, but I imagine there are downsides to choosing to be able to run away, and to be cruel. Just as there are downsides in not conceiving of having that choice - of staying, of always being there, the exhaustion and constant fear.
I always go to an place of wishing, for magic, for miracles, for time travel. Unhelpful. Disassociation is better than denial. I know you can't keep doing this. How can one? I know you will, too, though, helpless and exhausted as you feel.
This is all the poetry of life. It is also the poetry of the pandemic which is the same only compressed into a smaller time and smaller spaces. We all know what happens when pressure is applied to matter even if we didn't make A's in physics.
ReplyDeleteIsn't it funny how Sophie's seizures stop when she has a fever? Is this a common thing?
By the way, you and Sophie are both beautiful.
No matter how you are.
In different cultures, hummingbirds are considered goddesses, symbols of resurrection and regeneration, healers, and also sun gods. I love that one of them sideswiped you, in person, face to face. I've been thinking about you and Sophie all week, saying metta and surrounding you in love and light and simultaneously reaching behind me with my mallet, pounding the idea of Sophie getting sick now in to the ground with a rhythmic sound - bang bang bang how dare you bang bang bang. I love you dearly and when I can fly to LA and wrap my arms around you in an enormous hug I will do just that. I will bring Lauren to sing in your kitchen and we can sit in the sunshine in the backyard and laugh at something that is entirely inappropriate until our bellies hurt.
ReplyDeleteThank the heavens for mint, hummingbirds, the end of Sophie's fever, and for a friend who cannot wait to rush out to LA to hug you. Lifelines, all. My heart goes out to you. Hard times indeed.
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ReplyDeleteSuch beautiful writing.
ReplyDeleteI love you. All light down the coast to you.
ReplyDeleteYour post is pure poetry. Thanks. I really do hope that you and yours are safe. Big hugs from across the Atlantic.
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.
Such a great weight yet so invisible on approach. The bracing and wondering on top of the rest. I imagine it does feel like too much. And yet you keep on. I bow down.
ReplyDelete