Writing Impasse

Make Sourdough and Clean the House

I shouldn’t watch TV or listen to the radio on deadlines. The tariff news pulls me in like iron filings to a magnetic field. And now Gaza-Riviera. I can’t stop thinking about so many desperate people; all I can do is clean the house and make sourdough. Forget writing about swanky restaurants, hotels with 700-count cotton sheets and the best ski hills. Everything seems trivial and pointless when the world is raging.

Last night I dreamt my neighbours invited me to a party, and everyone was naked. We had to leave in bumper cars that crashed into brick walls. I almost feel selfish living in Canada, beautiful, peaceful Vancouver Island, while so many Palestinians are living amidst rubble in makeshift tents. Beyond sad. I’m full of rage and sourdough.

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