Texting Tag

I have always been overly sensitive about receiving overnight texts, those snippets of conversation hitting my phone randomly in the emptiness of another sleepless night spent straddling the solitary decay in a fading City of Wayne. There was once a time when those texts were almost always transatlantic in nature.  And they almost always contained some form of bad news- another friend buried.  Or arrested.  Or overdosed.  And even when the content of the texts bouncing across an ocean contained happier tidings, there was still an invisible, underlying melancholy attached that taught me caution and stiff-lipped reserve when caught unlocking my phone after midnight. Now, though, here in the tempestuous midst of a pandemic still raging hard… and the western forests burning uncontained… and the progressive …

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Labouring Through the Day(s)

The end of another Indiana summer, the likes of which has rarely been experienced in the whole of our history, has now officially come and gone.  The only reminder of its existence is just another “X” indelibly carved on to the calendar of an undeniably dystopian year.  A solitary mark pulling us all closer to the frozen stagnations of the impending winter, lurking threateningly just on the horizon.

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Day 100: End of the Line

100 days. 50 bottles. And a typewriter. From those seemingly innocuous things arose these many words written to share with the rest of the world my little part of the national quarantine experience here in the supposed backwaters of flyover country. Despite the fact that I often complain, to just about anyone who will listen, about how hard the writing is and how exhausting and draining it can be constantly chasing down the words, I am proud of what I have here created.  Where once there was only an isolated emptiness, now there is something else that helps fill that space.  I unflinchingly stared down the worst that a global pandemic, and accompanying civil unrest, could throw at me and I fought that shit back with …

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Day 98: Lazy Recap Episode

So here it is, one post away from crossing the finish line of a project originally intended to help me keep my grip upon an already tenuous sanity while facing the implications of both a global pandemic barreling down hard on the City of Wayne and the resulting state mandated isolation madness.  And let’s be honest here, that is what it really was, and not the less scary sounding “hunker in place” order that the state government and press were so very fond of using.   That, frankly, reminded me too much of the old “duck and cover” routines which were designed more to keep the nation calm, rather than to provide actual useful sheltering advice.  There was never any chance in hell that a pressed …

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Day 96: The Grind

96 days. 42 posts. 41225 words and counting. Lots of tears and an almost embarrassing amount of whiskey went into the creation of these pages. And lots of beer.  And scotch.  And other convenient little helpers ingested just to temporarily ward off the loneliness and the echoing fears of a tomorrow unfairly promised and never quite arriving. There was also tear gas. And bullets, both peppered and rubber, fired at me in anger. And an almost insurmountable isolated isolation suffered for the sake of the common good. There was this pandemically mandated quarantine, locked down tight, here in this little flyover town. And finally, at last, the City of Wayne is opening itself back up, though in measured, impatiently hesitant steps. But, I’m not sure that …

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