A Fuck-It Day

It's been a day of free-form and floating anxiety here. Not a great day by any means. When Mr. Moon tried to gently talk to me about why I have such fear of going to the doctor while we were eating breakfast I cried. "It's just the way I am!" I said. And it is. But I know that somewhere in my childhood, something happened that I have blocked out. There is just no other explanation. And it had to have been early in my childhood.

I've tried to stay busy but it's been hard to pin my mind on a specific activity. I did a little of this. A little of that. Lisi's dress is finally all complete, velcro sewed on. I swept a few floors, I did a little laundry. I did two crossword puzzles. I checked the hurricane information sites which still show some disagreement on where the storm will hit Florida but not much, and also not much disagreement about what a powerful storm it will be. They keep tossing about the figure of a category 4 storm and here, let me give you the definition of that from the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Wind Scale. 

4 (major)

130-156 mph 113-136 kt 209-251 km/h

Catastrophic damage will occur: Well-built framed homes can sustain severe damage with loss of most of the roof structure and/or some exterior walls. Most trees will be snapped or uprooted and power poles downed. Fallen trees and power poles will isolate residential areas. Power outages will last weeks to possibly months. Most of the area will be uninhabitable for weeks or months.

I really hope that they are wrong about the strength of Ian. 

I have a list to take to the store tomorrow after my appointment which includes things like peanut butter and self-rising flour and eggs. 
Yes. Eggs. It would appear that Gracie has shut down. I am not surprised. How odd to have to buy eggs. We do not have to worry overmuch about supplies as we should still have the ability to refrigerate our food with the generator. It's never really had a true test of its reliability yet. 
This could be that. 

I've probably been listening to the wrong book on top of everything else right now. 

I am not quite sure what to call this book. Is it a thriller? An indictment of the immigration system? Is it an example of cruel and ridiculous cultural appropriation? Is it, as one reviewer said, "Just very poorly written"? 
I will tell you one thing- it is NOT poorly written. That is simply not the truth. I cannot remember reading anything lately that has grabbed me so hard and so fast. 
Now. I have no idea if the accusations of it being non-representative of the migrant experience are true or not. Who am I to tell Latinx authors that their perception of the book is wrong?

Nobody, of course. 
But for the moment, at least, I am not going to let all of the criticism affect my own appreciation of the book. From the first chapter to the last (and I have only a few pages left to read), there have been no lags in my attention, no moment when I felt as if I could take a full breath. The characters are so believable and so well written that I feel as if I know them, would recognize them on the street. The feelings and actions of the mother/protagonist in the book ring especially true to me. 

I think the only other book I've ever read about the experience of immigrants from south of the US border was The Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle and that book affected me so deeply that I've read it at least three times. 

I am ashamed that I know so little about what people go through who are so desperate to leave their own homes for as many reasons as there are people, that they put their lives in the utmost peril to do so. And I know just as little about what those lives are like if they do survive the journey and make it safely to the US. 

But I do know that as a white person who was born here, who has had every advantage known to womankind, I cannot imagine the reality nor can I ever even pretend to have a thousandth of the faith, perseverance, and strength of anyone who makes it across the border and manages to make a new life here does. 

Talk to you tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon