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My coffee smells like skunk today. So do my hands, my laptop, my forearm. I can’t smell my own hair, but I’m sure it is skunky too. I’ve showered, shampooed my hair twice, run a soapy loofah over every inch of my body, laundered every stitch of clothing that came near the dog.

We let Olive off leash for the last stretch of our walk home last night. …


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Artwork by Sahba Shere

It’s an odd time to be feeling rejuvenated. The federal police in military fatigues have been throwing people into unmarked vans; the war against science rages on, this time by the sidelining of the CDC; some Americans are railing against face masks as their countrymen die from a virulent virus. So I suppose it’s a kind of guilty rejuvenation I’m feeling.

Yet one wearies of anger and horror and pessimism. As Hasan Minhaj says, we wake up daily, look at our phones, and take an espresso shot of anxiety. Let’s just say I’ve had caffeine tremors of late.

Finally, last week, I did what Papa taught us to do: I grabbed my husband and headed to the woods. Just three days, two people, one mission: to commune with nature. Our daughters didn’t want to go. They needed a break from us. And to be honest, we, from them. Three teenage girls in one house, for months — it’s not for the faint of heart. …


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Salvador Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory” (PC Wikipedia)

Pandemic Papers — April 9, 2020

If you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll let you in on this weird little habit of mine.

Every time I’m running late to a class, a meeting, a wedding, a funeral — to pretty much every appointment in my life — I start imagining that if I will it hard enough, I can make time stand still for others. The clock on my phone will freeze at 9:57 am, the arms of the clever, R-wave clock in the kitchen will stop in their sweep. …

About

Vibha Akkaraju

I write to rein in my meandering curiosity and to give shape to my thoughts. And because I can Ctrl+Z.

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