Postcards from the Apocalypse

(as written by a consummate drama queen)

Y’all.

Y’all.

I’ve done just about bupkiss for going on two weeks now. My little wheels are spinning like mad, but my go-kart seems to be tied to a pole. I want to do all the things. I wake up intending to do all the things.

And then I stare blankly into the middle-ground and eat snacks and randomly write 3/4 of a little solo game and pack up a drawer for the impending move.

I keep wanting to call people or something, but my phone is made of lava. So’s my text app. And don’t get me started on the asbestos fire of DMs.

actual photo of any and all communication methods where I’m concerned. (also, this is probably AI. I stole it from google because you can’t copyright AI-generated works. Neener-neener.)

I made up about forty reasons why my creativity has been playing hide and seek without any seeking.

It’s the weather. I told myself.

It’s the whole political climate. I said, sagely.

It’s because it’s winter and depression is a Thing. I opined.

I thought maybe I wasn’t getting enough vitamins, or enough sun, or enough exercise, or one of any number of perfectly good, reasonable-sounding explanations.

But I know what it is.

If I get quiet with myself, I know good and well what it is.

It’s the looming threat of the desert and having to pack most of our things alone (J’s gone for at least another week, possibly two), and not being able to pack very efficiently because a) we’re not leaving for up to nine more months and b) my stupid foot thing keeps tripping me up, which isn’t the smartest thing for a Woman Of A Certain Age to have happen whilst being alone for weeks at a time¹.

I get all up in my head about every little thing. Will I need this within the next six-ish months? Do I really want to move that thing two thousand miles? Where did all of this even COME FROM….and why do I think I need it?

And moreover: I’m experiencing a whole lot of “lasts”.

This is the last January I’ll be in my forest. That was the last Christmas we’ll have here. This will be the last summer with the evil apple tree².

I can’t just drive into the rainforest, or go up to sit on the mountain. This is probably the last time I’ll need more than one light jacket or sweater³. I’m going to be assaulted with hot winds and a lack of rain literally all the time.

My neighbor’s moving. The landlord sold his rental house, so he’s vacating. His dog’s friends with Porkchop. We bought his car when J needed one. He’s been a great neighbor, if not a close friend. And when he moves out next week, it might be the last time we ever lay eyes on him.

My mom, after having back surgery, thinks she might sell the house I grew up in. It’s too much for her, and I don’t begrudge her that at all, but…without it, and being stuck in Texas, there’s about to be nowhere that is actually home anymore.

I’m saying goodbye slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. One little piece of goodbye at a time.

So…yeah. I’m a giant bummer of a human right now.

That’s why I’m quiet, and avoiding all human contact as if it’s the plague. A plague that’s on fire. With swarms of bees holding tiny knives.

I’ll be back to normal soon enough. I’m an optimist, even if I’m a sad one at the moment.

Thanks for bearing with me while I’m a giant cloud of absence and despair.

Sidenote: a thing cheering me up.

If you haven’t run across her before, let me introduce you to Anna Przy.

Her videos are tiny, bite-sized bits of wisdom wrapped up in the face of your best friend⁴. I keep going back to them whenever I want to punt all the bubble wrap off the edge of the planet.

Talk soon. Hope your week is going well, and that you’re not buried under six inches of ice or, for my California peeps, on actual fire. <3

1. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up! was a joke in the ‘80s. I’m pretty sure I’m dealing with karma, because it’s not such a joke in 2025, when I’m now elderly-adjacent.

2. okay, fine. That one might be a plus.

3. I live in sweaters from about October to about June. A sweater is a warm hug of a garment.

4. not literally. This is humorous inspiration, not Silence of the Lambs.