#i am literally just some bitch on the internet dot com what I say is hardly law

[crypticcraftin]

hi hi hey howdy I would like to hear about some blurclancy if thats ok. do you have any tidbits to share pretty please 🥺 i love fucked up abusive doomed yaoi so much

hhhhhh this is the best ask thats ever graced my inbox anon i LOVE you

I feel like none of my blurclancy thoughts are THAT original, but that's okay, because I can make up for it with ✨️enthusiasm✨️

first thing you need to understand- Nico is a freak. the other Bishops aren't great people either, they abuse their power over citizens too (YES, even Keons), but NO ONE does as much fucked up shit as Nico. he is an outlier. you think your Bishop is bad because he's physically abusive? Oh, buddy. if you only knew what's going on in Nico's district, you'd know better than to complain.

that being said, obviously, not every single citizen deals with it to the same extent. it's a huge city, most people are going to fly under his radar. So Nico has favorites, y'know? people (victims) he takes a particular interest in. those people generally bear the brunt of his freak-ness.

Clancy is one of those favorites. no- Clancy is THE favorite. the favorite OF the favorites. you could interpret this in a million different ways, how long has he had his eye on Clancy? why him in particular? I, honestly, don't have any specific answers to those questions that I consider better than any others. all I know is that Nico is COMPLETELY obsessed with him. unhealthily obsessed. he is deranged.

now, as for Clancy, I don't personally have any specific timeline or details that I subscribe to more than others, but during SAI, he's obviously getting super messed up. idk if I'll be able to explain this right >:[ but I'm gonna try

Nico's sadistic. Obviously. He enjoys Clancy being in pain, he enjoys his suffering immensely. Nico would probably hit him for no reason, just to see him cry. He does... even worse things to make him cry too.

But that isn't enough. like I said, Nico is deranged. Imprisoning him isn't enough, beating and torturing him ISN'T ENOUGH. Nico wants to own him not just physically, he wants to mentally break him too. Not just to the point of obedience, like the others do, he wants to be Clancy's everything. He wants worship. He wants the sun to rise and set with him. He wants Clancy to look at him like he put the fucking stars in the sky. he NEEDS that, he needs Clancy to feed his ego.

and do not even get me STARTED on how much worse it gets when you add smearing into the mix...

as for, like, other hcs about what their dynamic is like. idk I feel like publicly, in front of other Bishops, Nico at least TRIES to keep up a facade of normalcy. doesn't always go well, anyone who pays even 0.01% attention (Keons) winds up going 🤨🤨🤨, but he tries. privately, I feel like they're both really touchy/ clingy? Clancy's the clingy one, he's so touch starved / deprived of any kind of affection, he's constantly seeking it out, even if he's still bleeding from injuries Nico made not five minutes ago. Nico's less clingy, more... creepily physical? He's constantly moving Clancy around instead of just asking him to move himself, he always has an arm around him or a hand touching him or whatever.

idk man they are just soooo so toxic and then they kiss a bunch and it's great 👍

[bitchsexuality]

i need to scream into the void for a bit so vent post under the cut

my mom is obsessed with me getting a job which like. i DO understand why and i AM trying to find something long-term that i can handle without having Psychotic Breakdown #234928

well. ok i mean technically she’s obsessed with me studying, not just getting any random job, because... honestly as much as i love her i know that she’s trying to live through me in a way and she has lots of frustrated dreams. and i guess she kind of wants to make sure that doesn’t happen to me too but mostly she just wants to see me as an investment that paid off so that her mistakes don’t seem as bad to her in retrospect

i’m not projecting or assuming there, that is 100% what is happening. and it’s been happening for a long LONG time. like when i graduated high school after dropping out because of Psychotic Breakdown #5 (The Big One!) she said that it was all thanks to her because i wouldn’t have made the effort if she hadn’t pressured/encouraged me to which is. absolutely false, dumb as shit and frankly insulting lmao

Anyway. she’s constantly telling me to find something i love to study so i can get a job i love! and be emotionally fulfilled and feel like i have a purpose! or whatever! but the problem is (i’m gonna make a list it’s easier for me):

- there are only like. four things i consistently enjoy. and that’s rounding up

- if one of those things goes from “thing that i like/that distracts me and relaxes me” to “thing that i have to do every day because my life depends on it” then it’s going to stop being something i enjoy really fucking fast, so in the end doing something i don’t particularly like would be BETTER for me because the end result would be pretty much the same BUT i wouldn’t lose one of the At Best Four Things I Enjoy

- probably repeating myself here but it’s important to note that literally i can NOT think of anything less emotionally fulfilling for me than a job. not saying that’s an universal thing of course but the like, structure and feeling of dependency that come with a job would absolutely ruin everything else for me no matter how good it is/seems

- studying is hell for me because the academic environment and all the pressure + obligations involved fuck me up VERY BADLY so even if i found something i love (but not too much) it’d take me like... 7 years to get a degree depending on how long the major is supposed to be for people who don’t regularly have Big Bitch Breakdowns

i probably fucked up the order in which these should be but whatever. the point is that i am NOT going to find my ~vocational calling~ because i probably do not even HAVE a ~vocational calling~. and studying some random thing for the sake of making my mom happy would genuinely just be a waste of time and maybe not lead anywhere because. y’know. a degree does not guarantee a job. so whatever

kinda lost where i was going with this at first but i needed to rant and i’m getting there now. because what finally made me go “ok i’ve had enough i need to write a weird journal on tumblr dot org now” is that she’s currently obsessed with me studying programming. of all fucking things.

like the thing is that whenever i talk to her about my hobbies she’s like “OH THIS COULD BE YOUR JOB STUDY THIS”. and she knows that i a) like videogames, b) would VERY MUCH prefer to work from home, because c) going outside on a regular basis usually makes me uncomfortable and d) my #1 favorite activity is staying in the same spot (often a chair) all day

so for her the very obvious logic there is some kind of youtube recommendation reach of “you like videogames so you will like programming, which is used to make videogames”. and also “you’re good with languages so you’ll be good at programming because uhh Programming Language???” (and completely ignores the part where i keep telling her that i’m not good with languages, i just speak english fluently because i do everything in english so it sticks, and even that just started out of necessity because i fucking refused to play videogames with spanish-from-spain aka Worst Spanish translations/voiceovers, and i’m pretty sure that if i tried to do the same with Programming Language??? it’d either be impossible or give me a migraine because i’m 95% sure you’re not supposed to play videogames by just like. looking at the code).

and HERE IS THE PART THAT I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO SAY FOR LIKE 11 PARAGRAPHS NOW I LOST COUNT: i did try basic programming once and it was awful because... ok honestly i was going to blame it on Probably Dyscalculia Brain but not everything is because of Problems Brain, even for me, who is 99% Problems Brain. i just think it’s very hard and i don’t get it. and yeah i guess maybe i could do it if i spent a long time trying, but like if the idea here is “get a job soon” i don’t think that “spend 11 years learning how to program” is. the best way to do it.

but my mom has this thing where like... she thinks that all those things that i have been talking about for 12 paragraphs are a result of me just being like. stupid? naive? idk. like i don’t understand that the way i’m handling everything is kind of fucking up my life, so it’s a Big Deal. but. i know that. i absolutely know that. and it’s terrifying and upsetting and etc etc etc i was going to overshare more about my current state of mind (bad) and my emotional stability (none) but uh. better not.

so she keeps sending me stuff that i guess she thinks will suddenly make me go “oh thanks mom this article from lifetipsthathelpandaregoodforyou dot blogspot dot com made me rethink my entire life and i know The Way now!!!!”. which is. annoying. AND today’s was an article about how programming is the job of the future and it’s well-paid. and i just. don’t know what to reply to that. like i literally told her “no, i don’t think programming is for me, i know it’s in high demand now and it pays very well, the issue is not that i don’t UNDERSTAND THAT, it’s that i’m just not good at it? and it requires a lot of practice?” and her answer is essentially “you’re wrong <3″ (even though, for the record, she knows even less about programming than i do)

the way i phrased all of that makes it sound super stupid i know but mostly i just don’t know how to deal with her or how to make her happy anymore because it’s like. nothing is enough for her? her idea is “get a job NOW. study NOW. get a job based on what you’re studying WHILE YOU’RE STUDYING it now. learn programming IMMEDIATELY programming pays well. STUDY LITERATURE (the thing that i wanted to do but didn’t) AND LIKE ABSORB PROGRAMMING KNOWLEDGE FROM THE INTERNET AND PROGRAM (it pays well) WHILE UHH ALSO STUDYING BIOLOGY (another thing that i wanted to do but didn’t)” and then “if you don’t do these things it’s because you’re too stupid to realize they’re important. you need me to constantly tell you that you’re fucking up your life because you’re stupid. if you fail it’s your fault. if you do well it’s all because of me”.

it’s like. fucking exhausting. maybe i’m exaggerating and of course the programming thing isn’t the biggest issue here but it’s kind of... all of this has been happening for years, as i said, and i feel it’s been getting worse and worse, so her new obsession with programming is just a tiny little bit/symptom of that but also uh *checks linguee* the straw that broke the camel’s back

[motherboxing]

Okay. So, it’s become really, really apparent to me that I cannot use tumblr anymore. The simple fact is it has become a compulsive way for me to harm myself and feed into my own worst tendencies, including (among other things) an overwhelming and pervasive feeling of social paranoia that often leads me to believe that everyone I know is talking about me behind my back and deciding that I’m a dumb lying bitch who isn’t worth treating like a person. I am aware that “everyone is turning against me” is literally textbook paranoia, and that said paranoia is mine to manage; I just don’t think I can manage it, or basically any of my other C-PTSD symptoms, and remain on this website, or probably on any social media for some time. 

More on this below the cut. Please do not reblog this post.

I’ve spent some time over the past few days talking to people I trust about it and I waffled on saying anything about leaving in the first place. But I really care about a lot of the people on this site and I want to stay in touch. I hope that eventually I’ll be able to figure out a way to use social media without going into death spirals about it every day. I don’t think I will ever continue using it for traumablogging or hyperpersonal oversharing, but sharing cat photos and talking about my work is ultimately harmless and also something I need to be able to do, like, as an writer in 2019. So, whatever, Watch This Space in a few months, I guess. 

For now, I need to respect the realization that this website doesn’t help me anymore. It used to feel like I could use this place to say things directly and honestly to other people that I couldn’t say in my daily life, to the people around me. When I couldn’t look someone in the eye and say I was raped, I could go on tumblr and type it into a text box and someone would see it and maybe understand. When I felt like there was no place for my voice in public discourse, I could share my thoughts here and feel like in some capacity they mattered. That was really, really important; part of why I’ve been so reluctant to leave is that I don’t want to act like my time on tumblr has never been valuable to me. But at the same time, more and more it just upsets and triggers me, and it no longer feels constructive to share my pain in this public forum, or any public forum. Like I said to my girlfriend, I need to be dealing with this stuff IRL right now, and doing it Online is no longer a path towards that, but away from it.

Yesterday I called my best friend, who understands maybe better than anyone I know how exhausting and demoralizing compulsive relationships with stuff like this can be. They pointed out something that I hadn’t really been thinking about: how something that’s a neutral or even positive part of your daily routine can become a site of trauma, and how continuing to engage with it like you were before it did becomes a means of repeatedly triggering yourself. I know that’s what’s happening here. There are no accommodations that I can ask for from mutuals that would change this, no way of improving this site’s accessibility to me. I literally just have too much C-PTSD for it. 

I feel sad. I know that leaving this site for an extended period of time, and at time time/in this manner, may mean the end of a few friendships I’ve built here, and that’s really just devastating. All of you are why I’ve stayed on this website for so long. I’m someone who has a really hard time dealing with feeling close to people (good ol’ C-PTSD trust issues) and the relationships I’ve built here are important to me. 

To that end, if any of you ever want to talk about movies or cats or TV or art or Montreal or even just say hi, PLEASE feel free to e-mail me, it would honestly make my day. You can reach me at ellehumour at gmail dot com. I will probably edit this post in a few days and remove my e-mail address from it, but if you miss it, you can message @thepfa and ask him for it and he will pass it along. 

In the meantime, I’m going to withdraw from the public internet for a while. I do not believe I will be gone forever, so like, if you want to keep following this blog, eventually there will be Bonky photos again and probably posts about my book and etc. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too. It makes me sad to think about losing any of you, but I have lost many people in my life, and though it always hurts, I am still here. 

I love you all and I hope that wherever you go, as much as is possible, people are kind to you, or at least not unnecessarily cruel. See you on the flip side, or something.

[devilstree]

Answer the questions and tag 11 people you want to know better!

@devildomz tagged us in an ask game. ok hell yeah this is a 2 in 1 blog

1. What do you prefer to be called namewise?

adri: adri !

nat: nat ........ lol our names are right there

2. When is your birthday?

adri: june 29 ... cancer season 😌 ✌️ 

nat: december 11 sagittarius gang only

3. Where do you live? (You can just give the country’s or state name if you’re not comfortable with sharing the city name)

adri: both of us are from the sf bay area

nat: what she said

4. Three things you are doing right now?

adri: i made fresh strawberry milk + boba and i am sipping on that. i am also listening to weeb music. i am also drawing somn 👀

nat: i am dyeing fabric in a pot with acrylic paint bc im in the throes of finals week and also im blasting fall out boy just one yesterday cause its 2015 again. yeah

5. Four fandoms that have your peak interest right now?

adri: at the forefront it is literally obey me the demon dating sim and haikyuu the volleyball anime is my ultimate comfort media. thats all folks i dont have four

nat: obey me is my emotional support quarantine hyperfixation but also animal crossing

6. How has this pandemic been treating you?

adri: not kidding! godawful! i hate it here ive never been more depressed in my life

nat: my life is gonna turn around as soon as im done with class next week but for now i am literally going through it.

7. A song you can’t stop listening to right now?

adri: tattoos together -- lauv

nat: mouth of the devil - mother mother

8. Recommend a movie

adri: marie antoinette dir. sofia coppola. is something that can be so personal 

nat: phantom thread 2017 dir. paul thomas anderson. absolutely insane

9. How old are you?

adri: i am 19

nat: me also

10. School, university, occupation or other

adri: university but summer break just started 4 me. double majoring in english/environmental studies 

nat: university also i go to art school. studying textiles & trying to double major in illustration. still working on the last one tho........

11. Do you prefer heat or cold?

adri: for outside weather sunny and warm, for indoor temp cold

nat: 70 degrees is the ideal living temperature i dont take feedback. also it is better to be cold than hot

12. Name one fact about you that others might find unusual

adri: bruv i am a normie i cannot think of an unusual thing. i am a vegan thats my weirdest unusual shit

nat: idk uhhhhhhhh. actually ok i thought my birthday was the wrong day for 10 years

13. Are you shy?

adri: i do not think that im shy i literally am just woefully picky with people i have in my life so i snip out people i dont immediately click with. not shy just unfortunately frigid akhddkg

nat: no only on the internet 

14. Do you have preferred pronouns?

adri: she/her

nat: anythings cool honestly but i prefer he/they slightly.

15. Biggest pet peeves?

adri: gross but. aggressive burping without apology when i dont know u like that

nat: hate it when ppl try to be rude funny like what is ur damage lol.. only do that if i know u -_-

16. What is your favourite “-dere” type?

adri: i had to look this shit up bc i didnt know any dere type other than tsundere but i still say tsundere because its so fun

nat: not a weeb so i had to check anyway its deredere i love happy bitches. good for them

17. Rate your life  1-10. 1 being crappy, 10 being amazing.

adri: last week it was a -8 but today it’s a 5??? im unfortunately going thru some shit rn but im on the up again

nat: 3-4 right now but i am finally getting off my ass for my finals. as soon as next week passes i guarantee i WILL be at 10

18. What is your main blog?

adri: @adrisama where i blog about haikyuu and rb whatever else i want

nat: @goo-mies its just everything there.

19. List your side blogs and what they are used for.

adri: oh christ. they are all lowkey dead for now bc i literally caught obey me disease but @twilitinhere for twilight blogging. @puffsleeves for blogging about anne with an e. @agrestes for miraculous ladybug. u are looking at the newest sideblog here at devilstree dot tumblr dot com

nat: i have an art blog @dovebranch and an aes blog @solohsis which r the only ones im really using rn. i used to have a tf2 sideblog but i havent touched it in 2 years and the art is old so i am NOT sharing

20. One thing you think people should know about you before they become your friends? 

adri: this is just for people who follow this blog and play obey me.... i stan satan and mammon. yes they r on critical opposing ends of the sapiosexual/morosexual spectrum. i have two hands!!!!!  🤧🤧🤧

nat: im just gonna piggyback off of what adri answered. anyway i stan levi and asmo who are also on opposite extremes except its the two ends of the cringe-sexy scale. (pinches fingers together) its about the duality

[parf-fan]

Unsolicited and incomplete list of highlights from Improv Technology’s May 23rd show

In little-to-no particular order.

“I thought we weren’t doing a musical”

Alexis transforming herself into Don Alonso.

Davis Handle

Michael Stahler doing a live Animal Planet special with Hoagie and Milo.

“Which Brady Bunch am I??”

Jonathan's entire hotel experience.

“I wanna be entirely clear, visible, vulnerable, perhaps supple, and maybe even emotionally contemplative with the press.”

Alex's face immediately after Chat Roulette.

Alexis loudly bursting into a vaguely Scottishy-piratey accent.

Michael getting to do a quick science talk during Objection.

Jonathan's ASMR persona stabbing themself in the eye with their glasses.

Joe's genuinely brilliant hosting.

“Who among us has not slapped through Jonathan before?”

Most likely to start an improv show eight minutes late.

“What number show is this for you guys?”

“I can hear you as clearly as I can hear your sins!”

“We doin' a show y'all?”

“I will say that my dog just leaped off of an— anyway.”

“Holy bananas.”

“No. This is just a personal Alexis-to-Jonathan threat.”

Michael trying to start a joke three times in One-Eighty-Five before managing it.

Michael's video freezing in the middle of the joke.

Michael patterspeaking to make up for it.

Alex in Press Conference as Batman changing his superhero name to Bearman.

Everybody's reactions to hearing that prompt.

This is the second time Alex has been Batman in an Improv Technology show.

the crimes that you kermitted

“You the bitch Satan lookin' for.” “I am the bitch Satan's looking for!”

Katelyn tapping on Weston

“Yo, you were just possessed there for a moment, that was beautiful.”

The gross Zoom incompetency of this show.  Literally, I was crying from laughter.  This must be what Disasterpiece is like in-universe.

“...facebook dot com, you know, the website?”

“Not you, though.  You are the worst child I've ever read to.”

Joe's description of Alexis completely fitting Michael, too.

“ComPLaINtS??? WE've gotten WRitTeN COmpLAiNts!!!!”

“Church had gotten boring.”

“In honor of Adam Shepley:” *dramatically opens carbonated drink*

“I have to stop a disaster, one second, my dog's about to jump on my cat, one second.”

Everybody's faces at that.

“Yeah, I can make up some references to a show I haven't seen.”

Alexis's little grin when Haley brings up otters.

Michael quietly threatening the audience to coerce them into donating.

“Mike, stop talking to them.” “I—I– I wasn't! I wasn't.”

Michael continuing to quietly threaten.

“Is the dog back? Are you okay?” “No, my family's at the door.”

“Christians are weird.”

The false start on Michael’s press conference

“What I sound like doesn't matter at all, and I've forgotten the accent since the last time I saw you.”

“Good Cop, Bad Cop; otherwise known as Here's A Glass Of Milk, Gimme That Glass Of Milk.”

Their faces at that.

An objection being called at that alternate name.

Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

“I'm.....Walt?”

grrrrounded

Arc Hamm

“Oh. Shocker.  Another play where half the cast is dead before the end of Act One.”

The beard reveal ™.

Jonathan's reaction.

Michael putting sunglasses atop his regular glasses to be the bad cop.

“Get the heckin' heck out of here!”

Michael's nyooming onscreen entrance as bad cop.

Ailey Karlson

Weston and Hoagie helping close out the show

“Uhh, guys?”

“Oh, huntey, you bein' hunted?”

nocableinmychildhood.com

Michael: *foghorn sounds* “Correct the record.”

“I am insulted at the idea that I am three times the size of Shrek.”

Alexis slipping up and dropping the f-bomb.

Michael Stahler (Horace Tanningrove) unveiling a beer.

Once Michael realizes that he's meant to be marketing beer, he starts sounding like a middle schooler writing an essay on a book he didn't read, and I think that's beautiful.

“I guess Jeff is definitely gonna have to control this game.”

“Let's see what Christian Mingle in this part of Georgia has to offer.”

Michael pulling a hairbrush out of nowhere as a visual aid

“Remember CD-roms?”

Michael: “You [Haley and Alexis] are better at facial hair than I am!”

“So you hiding from Satan and looking for vampires?” “Yes.” “Girl, you need help.”

Alex breaking the fourth wall to tell all men to get rid of cargo pants, and Michael promptly standing up and grabbing a pair of cargo pants from off camera to throw them somewhere else off camera.

Joe's absurdly beautiful origin story.

“ 'Aye aye Captain' is damn right.”

Michael quickly starting to analyze everybody's facial/skeletal structures before remembering that Alex literally played a snake.

Michael himself then briefly becoming a snek.

Alex saying his address over the internet while Alexis hastily tries to prevent it.

Jonathan apparently not having writing implements at the beach?

“I could honestly watch this for the full hour.” “I could not. Please.”

“That would've been a good one, but no.”

“Are you colourblind?” “Yes.”

“Can I let my cat out of the room?”

“Please donate to our Venmo so we can take improv classes.”

“Children can't drink beer.” “Not with that attitude, they can't.”

Porous Tanningrove

“Thought has occurred.”

“Well at least I can drink my name-brand soda without having to hide it.”

“Also here, my little sister, in some cases, not really, she's not adopted, we just say things sometimes.”

“Objection! As long as your cells are able to metastasize[?], you have a life.”

“Sshould I write any of that down?”

“I'm a sexy boi.” –Alexis, quite rightly

“How did you know how moist I was?”

Katelyn deadass namedropping her persona in Press Conference and not realizing that's who she is.

“Oh my god I almost lost my mother's place in a book!”

“I'm ready to get crusty with it. I regret saying that.”

“Why do you get so close to the screen”

“We stan David.”

Michael petting his dog while everyone else discusses the prompt.

“Are you a specific pirate?” “What?” “Are you specific?  Or AtlanticHAHAHA!”

Everybody hivemindedly putting on cockney accents of various degrees of dreadfulness upon hearing the phrase “a new brew” and just. not stopping.

Seriously, what was up with that, it was insane.

Hilarious, but insane.

Michael correcting Jonathan's misuse of “objective” vs. “subjective”.

Everybody's faces immediately after.

“Objection! I sent you a foot pic a mere two weeks ago.” “That's true.”

“Ah swear, Ah'll goe out an' find yer entire family and gut ye liyke a fish!”

Hoagie waving goodbye.

“Oh, if you look upon these, they're not just simply rubber ducks: one of them is wearing a leather harness.”

[toddlazarski]

Last Suppers

Shepherd Express

“Please let me go ‘round again.”

— John Prine

I thought the apocalypse would be more exciting. Some kind of heaven-sent fireball, a mushroom cloud of malaise, Mad Max dune buggies. In this far off light I’d always pictured myself bearded, barricaded, adroitly philosophical, suddenly quite adept at swinging a sort of spiked bat or other homemade zombie stopper. Instead, so far, some five weeks in, nobody I know has gotten sick. Nobody in my orbit has died. Even being accosted by our neighborhood Jehovah’s Witness on the street, being told of end times and other corporeal human collapses I couldn’t stand or fully hear—being as they were, uttered by a man six feet away, while a two-year-old pent-up from quarantine perched on my shoulders and periodically bonked my head urging movement—took place from a mindful, strangely respectable social distance. 

Mostly these days just find me as an iPhone-glued glut of dissociated dread. A musty sack of torpor filling out ironically-named Champion jogging pants and a Totino’s-stained hoodie crowned by a hastily shaved head. What I’m currently reminded of, for some reason, from somewhere deep within the lizard brain that was weaned on world-end movies, is Deep Impact, and the way it all ends for Tea Leoni’s character: in front of a beloved beachhouse, with brave acceptance, facing truth and demise in the form of an imminent asteroid death, with her—father, maybe? (This recall may be way off, as I only saw the movie once, maybe 20 years ago, but I have a current therapist-mandated pause from internet research as the slightest twitch toward dot com-ing leads inevitably, instantly to a Milla Jovovich in Fifth Element-like doom scroll of terror). Regardless, this is how I view my resignation when being generous: a soft, somber, single tear strong-willed nod and jutted-chin acquiescence. I’ve had my restaurant meals, if they never come again. I’ve had too many, at too many bars. I’ve lived. So, here I am, at the freezer again, my own beloved beachhouse, mustering strength, wondering how much Ben and Jerry’s will pass before life maybe resembles normal again, or else until I see St. Pete, or St. Paul, or whichever is the one at the gates. Measuring the days till Quetzalcoatl in pints of Chunky Monkey. Wondering if I’ll ever again eat Cherry Garcia as a little reward, for a jog and some push ups maybe, instead of a desperate substitute for therapy, lobotomy. My biggest preoccupation is really Instacart deliveries, and the thought of them, the threat of them, where we let the bags sit on the porch like sentinels with tales from the front lines, or like badges of middle class virus-avoidance privilege. We hope the wind cleans off the Corona, I suppose, and then we let the same bags sit inside, eyeing our wares cautiously, suspiciously by the door, weighing the three articles advising cleansing groceries is unnecessary versus the one—always from Medium—that states everything inside a grocery store will likely give you and your grandmother the plague. Then, between the subsequent wiping—of course—and the beginning to plan six days out for the next Instacart delivery, and then the moisturizing of hands out of necessity from washing hands far too much, there has been such a background din of quiet second-coming contemplation. With little to do but wipe the door handle again, with the closest social contact being yet another episode of Cheers, there’s been too much time to think on all this, on all that went, all that was snuffed by a brutal harsh Monday morning reminder—all our kicks, our joys, our dinner plans and drink diversions, all that was maybe never really deserved in the first place.

For one or another—or none at all—reason that I choose to not consider too closely, the last normal weekend in contemporary American existence was a big one. A Friday night trip to Enlightened Brewing to check out Derek Pritzl and the Gamble was a promising prospect, sure. They had recently introduced me to, made me fall deeply in love with, play over and over again, John Prine’s “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness.” Still, as things were, it was largely run-of-the-mill in those distant days of social possibility. Just line up one of a few willing babysitters, jot on the calendar absent-mindedly, leave it peppered, like always, with the growing-old adult notion of if I feel like it. The self-importance of a modern American. The expectation, the world owing me it’s pearls and it’s oysters and it’s artisanal double India Pale Ales, for some reason. There for taking, when we wished. It’s like we were all Mad Men men, coming home from work where you expect your dinner to be waiting, your children cleaned and polite. You did a little bit of work and now you are owed something, the other half of your existence, calm and orderly and “here are your slippers, dear.” Now there is no choosing or taking or rewarding yourself with a night out, or rewarding yourself with a night in. It’s simply like our parents have given us an indefinite timeout, with more whiskey, yes, but also more, much more, morbidity. And also our parents are not coming to our room, eventually, to tell us it will all be ok. Rather, now, they might come, and stand on the sidewalk, while we stand on the front porch awkwardly, not knowing what to do with our hands, with no Easter hugs even considered, and mom might leave sugar cookies in a bag on the sidewalk, as if we were in prison, and she was the jailer that had to slide our sustenance gruel through a slot in the door. Only her said bag came with a real wonder: do we have to disinfect that now? I ran into a friend at Enlightened, then another, then a friend of a friend, and then a work friend—hugs for all the normal tangly tendrils of an adequate social life, amplified by guitars and rollicking songs of regret and craft suds and jocular end-of-week revelry. The band was twangy and driving and jostly, and I wanted it to be louder. Actually my spoiled fragile ego knew I deserved it to be louder. Meanwhile I talked importantly about basketball and somebody told me about their trip to New Orleans. “I’ll be there in a month,” I said. Like an ignoramus, like tempting fate, like I was one of the kids on the playground in Sarah Connor’s nuclear apocalypse nightmare in Terminator 2. There was no Purell in sight, in mind. 

Later, at the Newport, the bartender handed me a beer list, and I didn’t even note that, or contemplate my mortality on the fact, he wasn’t wearing latex gloves. I leaned close, doing the thing you have to do at crowded bars where you wedge between two seated patrons, brush one or both, amplify your voice to the hunched-forward Sam Malone, spittle and open mouths and casual “excuse me, I’m sorry, man” contact with strangers not an issue or thought, let alone transgression against the whole of humanity’s existence. The bummer about the NBA that night was that the Bucks were losing to the Lakers. The saddest part about John Prine was the line: “How can a love that'll last forever, get left so far behind?” What would any of us say, had we knowl—in 5 days the entirety of the NBA machinery would be suddenly halted, a broom handle stuck in the grinding gears? That I would have no chance at seeing live music again, for the foreseeable future? And that, weeks later, due to the same crippling circumstances, John Prine would be dead?  

The next night, somehow, as if acting on some last-chance latent level, I found myself barreling south for a Saturday night in Chicago. I rode a crowded Amtrak. I held the steel handle up the steps, followed along close in line, plopped unworriedly right on the worn blue cloth seat, I ordered a Lyft, I closed a packed bar with out-of-town big-city tenacity. Old friends shared birthday cake in a corner. I flushed a toilet, maybe didn’t wash my hands for a full 20 seconds, poked at the jukebox, clinked glasses, performed once-normal finger and hand functions that would now cause me to douse both extremities to the elbow in alcohol and ask for a light. My buddy and I kept drinking like we were Goodfellas, bound shortly for a stint in the can, which, in hindsight, we sort of were. Then we ordered another Lyft back to his place, like signing the tab on the last real Saturday night. Sunday was disarmingly sunny, soft, pleasant, the kind of warm early spring sliver that catches you off balance, leaves you without the right clothes or your sunglasses. So we sat inside, at the bar at a place called the Moonlighter, where we nursed hangovers with micheladas and shared fiery chicken wings and sloppily severed a grease-dripping American-cheesed burger and shoved it down our gaping gullets and licked fingers and laughed at the bartender’s Nascar sweatshirt, bitched about his lassitude. It was still a day where you could like a bartender or not like a bartender, and you didn’t have to wonder if all bartenders had simply vanished, poof, gone on the wind, Leftovers-style. You could do your drinking business and move on to the next one. Which we did, literally, deciding on pizza and homebrews at a spot called Bungalow that takes—that took—itself probably a bit too seriously. We’ve often fallen into this habit of double lunch-ing, not so much because we are slobs, fat and greedy and gluttonous. And not as some kind of intuitive acknowledgment that we were approaching end times. It also wasn’t just a love of time together, collapsing the 100 miles that separates our lives with a collective unspoken vow of ceaseless Epicureanism. Well, maybe exactly because of all those reasons. Either way we ate, glad they take, took, themselves so seriously with each bite, sip. And I got a pie to go, tucking it under my arm through Union Station, cradling the box like a toddler’s favorite stuffed dinosaur during my ride home nap, a last pepperoni and sausaged vestige from the world of living, togetherness, an experience slice from before we began to view each other as potentially poisonous flowers.        

My final restaurant meal was the day after, at Copper Kitchen, my neighborhood greasy spoon of fluffy omelets and watery coffee that you can never get half down before a refill magically appears tableside. A welcoming diner with video poker, and some staff that still eye me a bit questioningly because I’ve only been coming here for two years, and not 30, like most patrons always around me. By now though, with some work, our regular waitress is beginning to know the score, my daughter and I having seemingly earned the corner booth I always steer her toward. I grab the high chair myself, never need a menu, she orders her own “Mickey Mouse pancakes, please” in an impossibly tiny voice. In many ways, actually, it feels small town-worn, lived-in, like a John Prine song. A surreal slowdown, a place with a cook with a “short order face.” A spot of warm plates and unjudging respite. “If I came home, would you let me in? Fry me some pork chops and forgive my sin?” Our daddy-daughter day this early March Monday was flowing in a far more friendly manner though: another successful trip to the Domes behind us, we had full-stomach cold afternoon warm bed naps ahead. I wanted to tell her some news I was suppressing too, having just briefly talked to my wife on the phone about her recent brief phone call with the doctor. The info was just beginning to gel and bacon-grease coagulate down around my ham and cheese omelet and double-buttered rye. “You’re going to have a sister,” I almost said. Instead I let her eat more bacon, I let the waitress squeeze her arm affectionately as she poured me yet more benign coffee that I would sip and sip until it was time to leave. I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t time yet. But maybe I missed the time. How could I have known, that now, weeks later, Copper Kitchen and restaurants like it, all restaurants, are in real danger of never fully opening again? How was I to know that soon there would be no business anywhere for good news?