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Nothing But Surrender

Starting to think I should just duck and cover. Roll into the fetal position until this all blows over. But that doesn’t seem like an option. Instead I’m following doctor’s orders. Drinking gallons of water to flush my system. And this drug I was prescribed? I’m seeing shades from iodine orange to neon fruit punch coming out of me. I’M PEEING THE RAINBOW! And while waiting for this rough stuff to pass me by I’m missing all of the good. The Boris show at the Varsity on Monday. John Zuma St Pelvyn & Skoal Kodiak Wednesday. Last night I missed the Crafty Planet sponsored Crafterhours at the MIA, and Kitty Cat Klub’s goth night, Perish, with The Rope and Crusader No Remorse. And I haven’t exactly made the most of my son’s school break this week. I’ve mostly been working from home in pajamas and/or napping away my fever while he amuses himself, and me. The other day he did a performance art bit about The Birth of the Spork, complete with a Venn diagram. Today he built the Yellow Submarine out of Lego. The only time we’ve left the house since Tuesday was yesterday, and only briefly, to walk to the local library and coffee shop. That was when we noticed some asshat had stolen the pumpkin our front steps, the one we hadn’t yet carved. While I will miss much about this house itself (the ample space, the way I’ve decorated it and made it mine) I won’t miss the neighborhood. At all. But somehow I’ve got to muster the energy in the next couple of weeks to pack up our things and move. And I can’t even imagine how, when I can barely get out of bed.

on the floor

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