Washing my hair and watching the wild leaves outside my bathroom window, the coconut shampoo reminding me that in two months I’ll be on the beach far from snow and hurricanes (not tsunamis and wild winds, though), hot water reminding me that I live in the delicious first world, today reminding me that I should wash my hair because who knows when there will be delicious hot water again.

A part of me thinking: maybe today’s the end of the hot water, forever.

A part of me thinking:I have no idea how I could possibly be a mother.

What do mothers say to their children, I wonder?

About all this?

My darling, love of my life, this might be the worst storm of my life, if I’m lucky, but it definitely won’t be the worst of yours.

My love, my dearest, you’ve got to get used to this.

Because things are only going to get worse. So much worse.

The thing is, sweetheart, my generation, and my parents’ and their parents’—and so so many generations before them—we didn’t think about you. We thought only of ourselves. Some of us thought about the future, but we didn’t have much power compared with the power of those who could make money by being selfish. And so, my love, this is where we’re at. Things like this, this scary day of batteries and water in jugs and your parents on edge: this is only the tip of the actual literal melting iceberg.

Our beautiful world, the one we go for walks in after school and on weekends, the one with the birds overhead and the flowers at your feet, that world has been destroyed from the inside out, over and over, by all of us, and all the biodegradable toilet paper—ours is wrapped in paper telling us that Native Americans said that we should always take the next seven generations into account when doing anything to our little Earth, but we killed most of the Native Americans because we didn’t want to hear that kind of talk—no eco-friendly toilet paper in the world can clean up the shit we’ve created now.

And so, my dearest dear, things are terrible, and it’s all my fault, and you’re going to pay the price.

Watch cat videos while you can, because there’s nothing you can do. It’s going to get worse and worse and worse. Hold on tight, because there’s nothing I can do to protect you. Even though that’s my job.

My love, I’m so sorry, you’ll never know how sorry.

A part of me aches for the crash.

The Great Comeuppance.

2 Responses to “storm.”

  1. lia

    I filled multiple buckets w tap water in case the water plant went offline. Thank you for city water. I put my largest cauldron on the stove to heat for washing and cooking. Thank you for city gas. I ate at 4 – leftover jackfruit barbecue, brown rice and cheezy shreds. Thank you for the internet. My power is out and i will have to charge my phone in my car. Thank you landlord for clearing the stormdrain of leaves so i am not flooded. May you all be safe and dry and warm. Raw beet salad anyone?


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