Oh, Nothing Much
The paint was peeling, the garden had overgrown, the gate had rusted shut. But no we are not haunted! says the house. People go in and out every day. They pay rent to a landlord who, are you really going to call him about the gate when he hasn’t patched the wall since the pipe exploded in the hallway in February? It’s a regular house. Plus maybe a turret or two. And the ghosts.
Economically I have been fine. I am employed and have a stable housing situation. If you’re looking to support people during these difficult times™ please lend your support to other creators in need or your local food bank or bail fund.
Smallest bore stuff imaginable: we are sold out of some of the greeting cards and almost out of the rest. We still have enough books for me to be set to sea on a raft of them when I die. Topatoco Christmas deadlines are probably going to be insanely early, so why not pick out presents for people now and assume that nothing important will change in the next three and a half months?
It has been hard not to think of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. It’s been hard not to think we’re at best in the chorus. That we are slogging through history as everyone has always slogged through history. Taking a long walk outside, while that’s still an option. Picking up a meal, while we can afford to. Talking to friends and family, while they’re still around. Somewhere the tragic protagonist is finally brought low. The audience roars. The curtain falls. In the background we labor on. Trying to make a life in the debris.