I can’t believe it’s been almost two years since I started my cookbook project. And I can’t believe it’s been that long since I’ve written anything.

Well, that’s not totally true. I’ve put some creative energy into writing a few songs, but that’s about it.

I’ve never been a disciplined writer even though the only reason I went school for creative writing, Dr. Derick Burleson, was a huge proponent of the technique of “ass in chair.” It’s exactly what you think; just sit down and fucking write something. Anything.

But that’s always been tough for me when I don’t have much to say. Of course “having something to say” isn’t the only reason to write. And, honestly, it shouldn’t be the motivation, either.

I’ve had a lot to say over the years. I’ve written to you about the whole ordeal of having a premature baby, just bleeding feelings all over the place. I’ve written to you countless times about being queer and from the country. I’ve told you family stories. I made old recipes for you and wrote down my feelings about that, too. I’ve tried to tie in my own experiences of being a person in this world with current politics. So, maybe it is in that spirit that I felt the need to put my ass in a chair tonight. Or maybe I just felt like telling you some stories.

Here’s a story: my dad now only has one ear. What happened? Skin cancer. A lump that a doctor told him was a cyst and would go away on its own. And the doctor, treating him like a total blathering old man, said to him, “You know, you don’t have to come in for every little thing.” And within a few months, here’s my dad with a patch of his leg skin slapped to the side of his head in the place of his ear. I mean, the skin is ear-shaped, but just flush with the rest of his head. And a long scar running down his neck where they took some lymph nodes. And a long scar on his forearm where they took an artery. Did I mention that he’s deaf in his other ear? So, he has one ear that looks normal and can’t hear and one ear that is missing that’s doing all the heavy lifting.

He starts radiation on Monday-his 76th birthday.

I can’t believe my dad is 76. I can’t believe I’m 45. I don’t want to believe that I live in a crumbling democracy, late stage capitalism hellscape, but here we all are.

Here’s another story: Last May I started two new jobs; I’m really good at one of them and at the other one, everyone got a raise except me.

Here’s another: I’m positive I’m neurodivergent.

And one more: What are we even doing with ourselves? My desire to live off grid increases constantly. I’m not, and have never been a prepper, but I understand the appeal. I do have some scarcity trauma that I believe I inherited from my parents, so having a stocked fridge, pantry, and freezer makes me feel safe. Gaby can preserve almost anything, so I’m confident we’d do okay. But I realize now that preppers aren’t preparing for the worst; they’re preparing for their dream.

Last week I was out in the field doing archaeology. My coworker and I came across an abandoned road that ran through the middle of two soybean fields. The trees had made a canopy over the top and leaves and grass had crept up on both sides leaving only a narrow strip of visible concrete. You could see the yellow middle lines still but that was about it. There was dumped trash like tires and tarps and random old lamps. A plastic Christmas decoration. Beer bottles and cans. A bag overflowing with used pads and tampons. Three early 2000s flat screen tv’s. And we wondered when was this road shut down? We dig a little digital digging and found out the road was being used until 2005. In just 20 years, nature had almost reclaimed the whole thing. At one point as I watched my coworker walk down the road in front of me, I commented that I felt like we were in the Walking Dead.

I have fantasized that civilization crumbles and we have to start over so many times, and those times are ever increasing in frequency and length. Don’t get me wrong; I love theatres and cultural exchange. But. What if our cell phones died and there were no more 20 second videos of people talking in that weird voice? What if we all knew how to grow and hunt things and we shared that knowledge with our neighbors and kids? Wouldn’t it be lovely to spend your days actually surviving instead of just being in survival mode surrounded by traffic noise and Teams notifications? What if you never had to write another email?

I know. Don’t worry. I’m not that naive. Both of my parents spent most of their childhood without running water. And here I am making video calls on a small rectangle that fits in my pocket.

I suppose that’s why I’ve always been fascinated by history and studied archaeology. There was once a time with only rocks and sticks and people not only survived, but created art, had meaningful lives, and had enough time left over for religion and story-telling. Of course life was shorter and harder than it is now. They lived without quality healthcare and vaccines.

I just can’t understand how we’ve come so far and yet remain so far away.