*Editor’s Note: This entry will be published in a real-time perspective, as penned originally. Due to its emotional content, the author debated on whether to include it and ultimately decided relaying his micro-apocalypses within his individual life during the year of 2020 was a fair addendum to the macro-apocalypses occurring outside.
In retrospect, there are emotional assertions herein that might have been presumptuous, particularly regarding his projections of how the pandemic might ultimately transpire. The author decided including his bloodied-heart-on-sleeve would best serve the overall narrative, at minimum depicting an example of the frustrations everyone experienced in enduring lockdowns.
Last caveat: the author elected not to include an audio option in this entry. Apologies to audio subscribers.
July 15, 2020
Okay, now I’m fucking pissed.
Maybe I’ve never been this angry.
I’m gutted.
Utterly heartbroken.
Typing this through tears, that’s all I got today, a shit ton of burning tears…and this anger itching to blow.
My gal convinced me to put pen to paper in my grief. I don’t really want to, but here’s as good a place to purge these emotions out as any, I suppose. Better than taking it out on the next unmasked idiot I see on the street, which is what I feel like doing right now.
So I’ve mentioned my dogs. Australian Shepherds. They’re the best.
They’re everything to me.
They’re as much my children to me as my human ones. I don’t distinguish my bonds based on species nor life spans.
My eldest girl is a red tri.
Her name is Tara.
She is the matriarch of our entire clan.
She died today.