Good Goddamn

I wake up every morning wishing it was already 8:00 p.m., kids happy, work done, house managed.

Full-time work and full-time parenting is an impossible tightrope to walk. If you try to slide it burns your feet, if you look down you feel sick, if you try to run you fall, if there’s a pandemic you mask up to hide the fear on your mouth and chin. 

When Covid hit I was the best I’d ever been.
Kids: Happy and thriving.
Career: About to premiere my first film on the opening night of SXSW.
Relationship: A fantasy come true.
Two years later and my memories have transformed into a weird fever dream of someone else’s life.

At the time, I figured everything I’d worked for would bounce back to me in six months.
Two years later, I don’t even care if I bounce back. Covid testing lines, zoom rooms, sickness, quarantine, hand sanitizers and boosters. Bounce back?

work by: Javier Mayoral / @pulpbrother

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I have to hold it together for my kids. I don’t have an option. They have one full-time parent. I have to remain productive, every day, for them. Every day I do.
And at the end of every day I get into bed and wait. I just lie there and look at the wall. I don’t even know what I’m waiting for. I just lie there alone and wait for something to happen for me.

If the schools close down in two weeks, as God is my witness, I will completely lose it.

Now I’m crying and my special tubing mascara is turning into glue and dripping down my stupid face. 

I just walked through the house and thought I saw a deer beside the neighbors’ garbage can, then I thought I saw a man in a top hat on my chair. Then I remembered I took mushrooms.

All of this garbage I’ve just written was to try to clear my head.
Every conversation with a friend is a therapy session.
Every conversation with an acquaintance ends up edging a therapy session.
And I know we wouldn’t be doing it if we didn’t need to.
And I know that tomorrow morning, when I wake up, I’m going to wish it were 8:00 p.m.