I read this week that in Indiana, they can smell the smoke from the California wildfires. And then I saw that the jet stream has carried the smoke all the way across the country to the east coast as well.
And that sounds about right to me.
Because my life is a haze, many days, no matter how far away July 19 grows.
When people ask “how are you,” I don’t know how to answer.
I get up, I shower, I get dressed, I do the laundry and buy the groceries and cook dinner. I see some clients, even. I go to movies and out to dinner. I smile for photos.
But the wildfire that is sorrow occludes all my other emotions.
Sorrow pervades and permeates every single experience.
And I don’t know what else to tell you.
This is what this is.
I smell smoke all the time.