Why?

 

I woke up this morning from a dream wherein I was so anxious I had to take some Ativan. In the dream. I took dream Ativan. That was a first for me. 

So I was not in the best mood and when Mr. Moon asked me if I wanted to work today or play today, I said, "Well, I'm sure as shit not working." I envisioned spending a good amount of time on the jigsaw puzzle I've been attempting to complete for at least six months. I've gotten back into it lately and I love the way it stills my busy mind, a different sort of meditation in a way. Different than standing in the river and different than concentrating on my breaths but a respite from the constant thoughts bouncing around in my brain. I tell you this- I will never do a thousand piece puzzle again though. As I have said so many times, I am terrible at jigsaw puzzles. I am not a visual person. Or spatial. But for some reason, I don't get frustrated and I may even get a sweeter hit of dopamine when I find the piece I've been looking for and fit it into place because of my slow ineptness. 

Here I go again. What was I talking about? Oh yes. What we did today. 

Glen is an avid FB Marketplace user. He's bought stuff there and sold stuff, too. He showed me a green and white Talavera sink he saw listed a few days ago (see above) and it wasn't very expensive. Did I like it? 
Sure. I do love Talavera. He's already found some antique something/something that he wants to use as a vanity to put the sink in for the downstairs bathroom at the cabin. He's done that in the bathroom he built here and mine came that way although we replaced the white sink in there with a Talavera one we'd bought in Mexico long ago. I have seen a picture of the antique whatever he bought and it's at the cabin but he forgot to show it to me when we were there last. It's stashed in what had been an office so it's not out in the open. I'm sure it's fine. 
So he got in touch with the lady selling the green and white sink and she was in Perry, Florida, not to be confused with Perry, Georgia. Perry's not that far from here, only about forty miles, give or take. We decided to drive over there today and Glen made arrangements with the seller, and so we did. It's a pretty drive down a rural stretch of Highway 27 and we stopped for lunch at a restaurant where Glen's eaten many times because one of the places he hunts is in a little town called Lamont which is where the restaurant is. A woman I used to be in plays with runs the place with her son and I was curious to see it. Glen has always said it's a pretty good place to eat. I don't now why but I had envisioned a small cafe-like joint with seating mainly at a bar with a few tables here and there and it wasn't huge but it wasn't tiny, either. The decor was...interesting. Christianity was well represented but there were no quotes from Leviticus or anything. Mostly just crosses and so forth. What I'm saying is, is that it wasn't enough to make me want to never go back. 
There was a bar with seating but we sat at a table. They're known for their pizza and have a brick oven but everything from burgers to salmon to salads to collard greens to pasta and other Italian dishes are on the menu. The woman I used to act with is Italian so that's her influence, I would imagine. 

I got salmon, Glen got pizza. We were both happy. It was a very tidy and well-run place and I was glad to have finally eaten there. 

We were driving in rain the last half of our little journey and by the time we got to Perry, we were in a full-blown thunderstorm with the rain pelting down and lightening striking uncomfortably close. We met the woman with the sink at a gas station/convenience store and I have to say it felt almost like a drug deal. Except no drugs, just a sink. But cash WAS involved! Money was exchanged for sink, thank-you's given by both parties, and off we went to our separate destinations, reminding each other to be safe. 

I read out loud there and back, more of "Harlem Shuffle" which I 

started on our trip to North Carolina. There is a lot going on in that book and remembering all of it when you've set the story down for any amount of time is next to impossible for us old people who are sinking into memory loss like a baby into sleep. 
i.e. We are fighting it but we realize the inevitability. 
No worries! I just pick up where we left off and on we go. One trip to the coast and back and we might finish it. 

I've enjoyed this day very much. A drive in the country, lunch in a decent restaurant, getting a pretty sink, reading a good book out loud. 
As always, though, there was the perpetual cloud of fear and horror and sorrow hanging over everything as Cankles McTaco Tits (I didn't make that up, someone else did) continues to stomp all over the Constitution with his extra wide storm trouper boots, holding the hands of all the military might and all the ICE agents he's put in place, and commanding them to all do the same which they blindly do, cheering as they go. 
Well, maybe not all of them. 

We passed a huge TRUMP sign on our way and it all came crashing in on me like the bolt of lightening that felt like it hit our car, and although the feelings of dread are always there, sometimes they become sharpened and darker and those fucking signs trigger that reaction in me. 
"I want to leave this country so bad," I told Glen. 
He held his hand out for me to hold and I did. "We'd have to take the whole family," he said. 
"I know."
And we talked about how when we were kids and learning about WWII and Hitler and the Nazis and the concentration camps our main question was, "Why didn't someone do something? Why didn't someone stop it? Why didn't someone stop him?"

Here we are. Here we are. 

Asking that same question only in present tense. 

Meanwhile, the much-needed rain is falling and the thirsty ground is soaking it up, giving the illusion that all is normal, all is well, when I know damn well it is an illusion. I mean, yes, at this very moment in my yard, in my house, all is well and life goes on just like it did before January. 

Except it doesn't. And I feel like it never will again. At least in my lifetime.

Love...Ms. Moon