HALF A PILL LATER… IT'S A DOOZY

There are so many timelines to knit together since I last posted, I’m not sure where to start. I’ll start with “HI! How are you?” I’m not so happy that I have had no time to post, I hope you can forgive me. I missed all of you very much.

I’m listening to Die Kreuzen’s “Number Three” in a tiny Times Square hotel room. I just got done reading for the audiobook of my book at the Hachette studios for the day. (I can’t seem to escape Times Square! Haha!) It’s a loud maze I live in sometimes now. I’m not complaining, just amazed as I would never have imagined this as a place I’d work semi-regularly. (I’m just some dick from Tacoma Washington for cryin’ out loud…) 

When you only spend time in the Times Square area it gets a little stale on you, but I found my re-entry from Albuquerque through Newark airport, and then through the Lincoln tunnel on a Tuesday night a sweet sort of homecoming, especially since going to my actual home is so hard. The fall air in NYC right now is nothing short of luxurious. I still take taxis from the airport and I was thrilled that my driver was friendly and chatty. His name is Ahmed, and he told me is originally from Egypt. “No way!” I said. “My best friend lives in Egypt!” Unfortunately, thanks to the pandemic, I have never actually been to Egypt to see her. My travel plans were foiled in 2020 for obvious reasons. He assured me it will still be beautiful when I do get there. I smiled. I told him the one thing I treasure most about Egypt so far is the singer Umm Kulthum. He was gobsmacked. He immediately grabbed his phone and put on her music. “Do you like it??” he asked enthusiastically. “Oh, HELL yes!” I said. He cranked the volume and we cruised through Manhattan with the windows down blasting Umm’s seismic sounds which pulsed and blended and danced with the other passing sounds of the city. The passionate whine of Umm’s 40 piece backing orchestra made all the colors sparkle and flare. It was very moving. Ahmed would look back every now and then to give me the “Awwww, YEAH!” look. Music and food; the two things that keep humans of all cultures enchanted by each other. As long as we have those priceless gifts we will never be strangers to each other, no matter how different we may be. It was an unexpected delight to get into Ahmed's cab. I’m so fortunate and grateful that we were in the same place at the same time. We will likely never see each other again, but I hope he remembers how much fun we had. I know I will. 

I’m trying to reconstruct the last couple weeks since I last posted. My memories are like a jerking train car going around a turn and into a tunnel, then over a massive trellis and into yet another tunnel. The one thing I’m sure of is that I ended up in Albuquerque and slept for two days straight. I met up with ManFriendJeff day two and we were too tired to do anything but go down to the lobby of the hotel to look for food, where we accidentally ran into a different bunch of friends there from another colliding tour. It was really sweet to see them even briefly. 

What I remember most about the last two weeks of the tour was all the loving support from the entire entourage, for each other and for me. SO much happened, good and bad, and my team of gracious, empathetic friends rose to every occasion. I am so proud of everyone. I am so in love with them all. I was so fraught and exhausted by day, and worried for the show by night, then, greatly relieved and grateful after. Sleep was difficult. My favorite time to work on “Entering the Lung” is right after soundcheck. I go to the hotel and sit on the bed and type. It’s one of my comfortable rituals that I really cherish. This tour, however, I found it impossible not to fall into a deep sleep as soon as I sat down on the bed. In two weeks the only things I managed to write are below. Thankfully though, the naps made sure the show (and my mood) didn’t suffer. I feel good about the tour overall. Thanks so much to ALL of you who came out to the shows. You are very much appreciated. 

This is all I managed to write in the last two weeks but I think it says a lot. This was from our last show in Columbus (Which was an absolute BLAST)...

In the backseat of an uber, we glide along the freeway in Columbus Ohio. A powder-red light casts on everything at golden hour, the traffic slows. It’s beautiful. I see a groundhog on the side of the road going about their business in the littered grass. I realize a little too late that it’s Autumn, not Spring. I have tour time dysmorphia, in addition to my regular ADHD time dysmorphia. Our tour manager and I are on our way to eat some dinner on our day off. I have slept most of the day and will sleep more still. The tour is into its fifth week and I’m feeling a little better, just extra tired.

This tour has been fucking bananas. Up’s, down’s, lots of love, lots of tears, two deaths in the family and lots of shuffling of personnel. I ate ALL the candy from the minibar in DC on a day off and watched a few TV series, which I hardly ever do. I needed  to escape my own numb anxiety. It actually helped. That and the danger med, Abilify, that I went back on after a bit of a crisis meeting with my doctor over zoom. Tour is HARD. Life is harder. The pill helps a lot, and I only take a small amount but it can cause loss of movement control in rare instances. I’m afraid of it. But I’m more afraid of depression. I hate it. I take three pills for my menopausal hormones and ADHD anxiety and depression. It makes me feel shitty that it takes three pills to “be myself.” That's a hard fact to look in the face. I struggled with putting all this here in my Substack but I know there are so many of you out there who suffer from the same things. I’m hoping since my depression is situational it will go away soonish. I know depression really likes to cling though. I just want to restart and try to find out who I have become. Maybe it’s no different? I have practiced and rewritten so many neurological pathways that used to burn. Maybe some of the work and re-normalizing “feeling good” has actually worked. 

Needless to say, I am very privileged to have such an incredible couple of doctors. They really know me well which makes all the difference. I have gotten very good at advocating for myself. At this point I am my own professional service dog. I wondered if I might sound like a loon if I posted the above for about two seconds. Don’t care. I want EVERYONE to be able to access the emotional support dog within themselves. And I’m also terrified of the world going more backward than it already is right now. There are no mental health doctors without long waiting lists in Vermont. We are woefully understaffed, which makes zero sense in a state with the third highest tax rates behind New York and California. We HAVE the money. I worry about how the T***p cronies are going to further block people from healthcare if they get in. I fear mental health will be reclassified as some “pussy snowflake hallucinations” worthy of punishment. If you think I’m exaggerating, take a little google stroll down Hitler lane. It’s fucking dark. And it was very real.

I hate going home these days (except for my sweet animals) but I’m making an exception to go there and vote for all the reasons listed above and more. I’m taking the ballot by hand to my town clerk's office. I have to slam dunk it myself, in person. I’m voting for the nearly SIXTY NINE THOUSAND  human beings forced to carry their rapist’s babies to term in this fucking country since Roe was overturned. What a cruel world we are to womankind. We torture us. I will not stop fighting until I tear the throat out of this ravenous patriarchal monster. It’s killing ALL of us. No gender is safe. Men are not even safe, not even straight men, despite their absolute refusal to speak up for us (with the exception of John Legend. Thank you). When Dobbs went down it was CRICKETS. Your lazy, cruel silence has bought you NOTHING. Well done. If you think I’m overselling it, quickly reflect on what you have done to ensure a woman’s right to govern their own body and retain their most essential right: autonomy. For all the bleating, deafening arguments about politics on TV, social media, in public, at home..straight men have done literally FUCK ALL but make a bloated belch of a din. Do I still love you? Yes. But I’m not gonna sugar coat it; you are failing us. This isn’t the way to try to convince you to vote, but I don’t care. If your feelings are hurt, try putting yourself in the shoes of one of the many THIRTEEN YEAR OLD GIRLS, CHILDREN, FORCED BY OUR OWN GOVERNMENT TO GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD FATHERED BY THE ADULT MEN WHO RAPED THEM. There are lots of other HORRIFYING events to focus on this election season, but unless you are Indigenous and have a legit reason, save the nihilist George Carlin “I don’t vote” bullshit for alone time. If that’s what you do, great, but keep it to yourself. Nihilism is the easiest stance to defend. Easy to the point of cowardice. Don’t embarrass yourself.

Strangely, despite my saturation, and discouraged state, I am hopeful. Why? I don’t know. That’s enough for me. So I shall rage forward with love and joy. I will not give my own country my fear, that is a fucking perversion I will not entertain. My fear already belongs to depression anyway…

So, I’m gonna go vote with all my concentration and intent. Then I’m going to go to lovely Portland to finish my record. I hope all the men in my life, and the men here reading this will ask the women, and queer and trans people in their lives “What do you need?” with such tenderness and sincerity it breaks our hearts to the point where the phoenix can finally wriggle free from our chests and fly. You have such power. All my love to every goddamned one of you. Now enjoy this fucking clip of Ahmed and I living our best lives hand in hand with beautiful Egypt and Manhattan…