Faith, the George Michael Kind

I recently discovered that in the process of moving we inadvertently donated a brand new printer. We didn’t do a great job dejunking prior to packing up, so we made many harried trips to Salvation Army after the fact. One, apparently, with our printer. And I have documents to print, boy. Documents that would get me PAID, by the grace of goddess.
 
The mind turns funny at night. I recently shot awake at 3am convinced I’d stuck our passports in the same now long-gone box. I’d tried to be extra careful about setting those aside so they didn’t get lost in the shuffle. I had eyes on them the day we moved, yet they have since vaporized under a crush of crap. Our clothes are still in garbage bags. So, all night I roiled with images of identity theft, Theo’s baby passport sold for a high sum. And remember needing a passport? Ugh. I did a bit of cursory searching the next day, pushing aside piles of detritus. They didn’t show up. I’m trying to believe in what I saw that one time. That they are there. I’m trying to not let my anxiety brain highjack my day—it already got my night. I’m trying to believe in something I can’t see. It’s something like faith.
 
This bout of insomnia happened to fall on Imbloc, a holiday I’d never heard of till recently because I started following a bunch of witches and tarot readers on Instagram. It’s the halfway point between winter solstice and the first day of spring. It means we are getting there. Which is hard to believe, especially today. The city is covered in feet of crusty garbage and pee snow and I’m writing this from a window where I can see a man wrestling with a snowblower trying to clear a path of sidewalk that’s been iced over. So much has been iced over. I want to have faith. I know people, personally, who have gotten the vaccine. In the words of Scheana Shay, it’s all happening. But from here it doesn’t look like it and it doesn’t feel like it. This covid winter is an anti-recommendation. I was telling Scott the other day that I want to feel like myself but I’m not sure who that is anymore. This shit changes you. I want to scream but I can’t muster the energy. I’m trying to believe in things I can’t see.
 
After 48 hours in the utter conviction that our identities had been sold on the black market via Salvation Army, I found the passports. I stuck them in a drawer I was certain I wouldn’t forget, at that time. I think more than having faith what made them appear was active denial, trying not to perseverate on their existence, and distracting myself with something, anything else. I know we’re supposed to be present and all but I am just counting down the days til spring, and reminding myself on the hour that the only way out is through.
 
For your distraction, I recommend:
 
-Throwing away anything with a scent that will remind you of this wretched time. I just tossed a ¾ full tube of Bert’s Bee’s lotion because the cloying sweetness is a terrible madeleine of now. It was hard because I am cheap as hell. But it’s all unscented for me henceforth!
 
- Husband and Wifetime, a podcast by my dear friends Elizabeth Blickle and Matt Caporaletti (Matt was a contestant on Jeopardy! so he is obviously a genius. Liz is lucky.)  They unpack and analyze Lifetime movies with analysis befitting a doctoral program. They are scholars of the TV movie and HILARIOUS!
 
- Let Them All Talk: A movie by Deborah Eisenberg, starring Meryl Streep, Dianne Wiest and Candice Bergen. Can you even?!?! Like watching an Eisenberg story come to life because it quite literally is! There are so many perfect details in here I’m still chuckling over, namely the invented book The Realm of the Owl. Sublime.
 
- Why Fish Don’t Exist: One of those perfect books that is better left undescribed and approached as a virgin experience. The kind of book MFA students yearn to write and just can’t. Loved.
 
- This profile of Princeton Classicist Dan-El Padilla Peralta.
 
- Want Me: I gave this a psychedelically ecstatic review for the SF Chronicle (out this weekend).
 
- This series from NYT Parenting on motherhood in the pandemic. Turns out misplaced passports aren’t that big a deal????
 
- The Britney doc.
 
- In and Of Itself
 
- Googly eyes. I bought some for Theo for making Valentines (our Valentines have eyes, ok?) and we’ve been wearing them as bindis around the house, which is about as whimsical as I can get these days, but it’s still pretty fun.
 
- This theory: Is patriarchy because men are dehydrated? Do you ever see men drinking water, especially terrible men?
 
What are you recommending these days, and I’m serious, how are you getting through? This is not rhetorical, I need your suggestions!!! Holler at your girl.
 
Oh, and you can pre-order my new book, too, for fun. It’s out July 13, 2021. Can you imagine JULY?!