Hey friend,
How are you feeling about that blasted beaver seeing its shadow? Groundhog? Whatever it is, I'm ready for sunshine and warmth. It snowed the other day, out of nowhere, and I thought, "Well, this can't get worse..."
Then Billy Mays's voice boomed from beyond the veil, and he said, "But WAIT, there's MORE!"
More turned out to be Covid. Let me tell you how pissed I was that the plague finally caught me. I suppose it had to happen, eventually. It was nine days of Hell. I didn't nearly die, but my body felt like it was being crushed. All my joints breaking at once. The worst part was the fever dreams. When I tell people (who talk about finding a shaman in the jungle and doing ayahuasca) that my mind is a hell that needs no psychedelics; I truly mean that. Covid was a fever trip I didn't ask for, and I'll be glad to never have that happen again if I can help it.
I look confident, but I assure you I have a myriad of doubts. The fever increased those doubts (as did the newfound knowledge that someone I admired prays for my failure). Essentially, I spent my first half of February on a journey. I'm not a religious person, not in the slightest, but I do believe that my dead and living grandmothers and aunts and cousins and sisters who do not share my blood all protect me. I believe my circle is sacred. I believe I must show my daughters and my nieces (blood or otherwise) I am a force that cannot be doused by another's petty rain. My mother never believed in me; she always underestimated me and tried to make me less of myself. Everything she told me I could not do, I did harder. I was only too happy to disappoint her.
So, to my detractors, to the ones who put my name in their mouth with ill intentions (the ones I put in my mouth in rooms of opportunity), keep my name in your mouth. Choke on it as I prove you wrong.
And for everyone else, see you in March!
Don't forget to sign-up to see me at OWFI in May!
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