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molecules and potholes

There is a rift between daily life, and the news that trickles across. In our little bubble, this quiet neighborhood, the price of a bouquet of roses does not change. The eggs are painted in shit and feathers, but taste the same. The little fresh market works on the weekends again, now that the weather is not terrible. Here, they sell overpriced red onions, stalks of broccoli, maybe some green basil if we are lucky.  The potholes sit  half-full with murky water. New buildings grow slowly as construction workers stare into the horizon on cigarette breaks. None of this changes, not a molecule.

But the rest of world is upside-down. Wild laws are passed. Prime ministers become dictators. Bombs are dropped here and there, like rainbow sprinkles on a doughnut - the more the better. Great decisions are made over dessert now, fueled by whim.

Being an expat means more than living far from home. There are many distances to bridge each day, and in times like this I want to throw my hands wild i…

heavy weighs the crown

I've been living on the 9th floor of a building that resembles a castle for a week now. There is a little grey kitten that sometimes sleeps on my feet, but more often makes a lot of noise in the middle of the night. There are giant windows that look out on a hard black sky, and double plumes of smoke curling slowly towards the stars. There is a half-broken chair in the kitchen. There is a washing machine I'll eventually have to figure out. I need dishes and light bulbs and forks and spoons. I need to get the drain in the bathtub working better.

I understand why divorced and separated men become so depressed. Somehow, they must pay for everything their family requires, and take care of themselves at the same time. Waking up with empty beer bottles, hoping the milk is still OK, hoping they have coffee. Hoping girls still find them funny, attractive, interesting. Looking in the mirror, sucking in your gut, wondering how your socks never seem to match.

The sky glows a pale blue now. There is a hard, crisp snow falling. It makes little bell sounds against the windows. The cat pushes against my feet.

My daughter's toys and clothing litters the floor and I leave them there, to feel like she is just in the other room.

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