The difficulty
The difficulty of grief during a pandemic.
What if you were in a burning building and your family member burned to death and the fire won’t stop raging so you can’t fall to your knees to scream at God and then there’s gun shots and the streets are filled with people when you stumble out and men are dressed like the police in a sci-fi movie and there’s a crazy guy with orange spray tan and cotton candy hair standing on dead bodies while yelling “ no need for water! Try gasoline instead! Nothing to see here. Nothing is wrong! “
Those deaths are unfortunate but also lies and keep moving because we need this building to start serving pizza so there’s money in the economy and keep moving! No time to stop! No time to grieve! Money money money! Sleepy Joe! Demon sperm! Radical! Good people! I need a photo in front of that church. Tear gas people to clear the way... Person woman man camera tv!! I did it! I’m so smart! I did it! Fuck masks. Fuck Fauci. Fuck science. Person woman man camera tv. I did it!
Throw in two years of a uti. A fucked up surgery gone wrong... twice. A new gyno-uro doc today. Constant pain. Constant noise in my head, worry, pain, stress, crushing, keep your chin up, wait.... my dad died. My dad died. My loss convoluted by all this other fucking shit.
But thank God you can get your protein smoothie. Thank God.
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