Dear Rivi:
And here we are again, teetering on the edge, like we did in 2020, and in 2016, and I’ll tell you something: I am over all of this bullshit. How dare Americans be so shitty. So racist. So fascist. It’s both sickening and disheartening, while at the same time being this really pointed reminder that people have to fight for progress every goddamn time, or risk sliding back into the dark ages. And yes, I know that it’s not all Americans who are shitty, but it’s honestly far too many of them that are, and it turns my stomach knowing it. I never grew up believing that America was the greatest nation in the world, but I also didn’t really think that we are so far near the bottom.
I am not haunting the news sites, or endlessly hitting the refresh button on my browser, because that way lies madness. Instead, I am distracting myself with movies, games, art, and writing to you. Not working on the novel (which is going well, by the way), because I can’t focus enough to make any headway on that right now, but that’s okay. Tomorrow is another day, and one in which hopefully America isn’t on fire.
I am discouraged in general, but taking joy in little things. The chickens, for example, have become very friendly over the past few months, running to greet us when we go up to check on them, and swarming around us and over our feet. Even the roosters aren’t interested in trying to attack us, which is lovely, since part of the reason we inherited them in the first place was that they were going after their caretaker at their last home. They apparently realize that we are not ones to fuck with here, and are happy being the bosses of their hens, unless they are secretly plotting against us when we aren’t paying attention.
Good luck, roosters. We’re watching you.
With the recent time change, it’s now slipped into the months where the sun sets at 4:30 in the afternoon, and it is pitch black by 5pm. I’d forgotten just how it sucks the life out of you, this time of the year. For the first time in my life I actually do feel like I’m seasonally sad, but again it could just be the state of the world in general bringing me down. Who can say? Perhaps the chickens. I’ll consult them when I put them to bed tonight.
How are tricks on the Left Coast? Everything on fire again, or is it flood time over there? Last I heard, those seasons were mostly interchangeable, so you’ll have to let me know. Tell Boone and Tina that I sent ghost chickens their way to fuck with them, and also that I have so many extra rooms in this house that I have no idea what to do with them all, so that they should come and visit. Obviously, also you should as well. I could use a little of your personal brand of *jazz-hands* right about now. If you all hop in the car and start driving, you’ll get here before the snow comes (although we are hearing it’s forecast to be light on the snow this year, because climate change and the planet’s general exhaustion with having to deal with us humans).
It’s getting late over here, Rivi (6:30 at night, though my brain is calling it about 11pm from the darkness outside), so I’m going to pop this mail over to you. Hopefully the internet won’t be totally on fire from the election and this will get to you before we set the clock back a hundred years or so. Get out here, please. Bring Boone, bring Tina. Bring some San Francisco fog.
Love you, wench.
—Sebastian