A State Run by Monsters

I’ve had COVID since Thursday. But that’s not why I haven’t contributed to Bloggie.

It’s easy to neglect Little Bloggie when an unelected pack of goons in black robes hand out blanket death sentences to all women who have ectopic pregnancies in the United States from now on, maybe forever. It’s especially hard when you live in a state that’s also run by monsters.

The local creeps might even be worse than the national monsters. They’d take your kids and keep them in private bunkers if they knew they wouldn’t be caught. And even then, they still might do it.

I don’t have any plans to leave this state that’s run by monsters, at least not yet.

I feel like I should have long ago moved to a different, better country, of which there are many in the world. I wish I’d done it before I bought all my Library of America books. I really like them, and they’d be expensive to move across national borders.

When I had COVID, this week and last, I didn’t die or come close to dying, but I had some fever dreams. In one of them, Lisbon was a city in the middle of America, and it was crowded with people who weren’t wearing masks. I tried to walk across the city, but I went in the wrong direction. People were sitting on bleachers because there wasn’t room to stand.

I’ve been dreaming, too, about an elevator that climbs high into the sky. There’s a staircase beside it. Sometimes I’m on that, sometimes I’m in the elevator car. I don’t know where it goes or why I’m on it with all the other people who are there.

I know that I’ve heard in the dream about people who’ve lost family members because the elevator fell too fast. Something like that.