Good question, Pat.
It was a place to escape to. I was in nursing homes for almost three years---weird, I know, but...---and when the pandemic hit, I had to get out. It was a nightmare.
I'd been Facebook friends with Miette Gillette, a writer and podcaster and the editor of Whiskey Tit Books, for a couple years. When she learned of my desperation, she invited me to stay in the woods on her property here. I spent the first couple months in a tent, then moved into the cabin. And I escaped the pandemic, and the rest of the shit (I arrived here literally two days after George Floyd's murder.) Phew.
And it's gorgeous, of course, but I AM in a cabin in the woods, and I'm a bit TOO isolated; it's an extreme swing from living in the same room with other fellas for several years running, which followed living with the Ex (discounting when she disappeared for weeks or months,) which followed staying in shelters with TONS of people. Etc.
As I was walking down Vermont 100 today, from the gas station to the country store, I thought, "It's fucking great to be alive." It was one of those days. I don't know if everyone has that thought, in those words, ever, or if it's just formerly suicidal depressives like myself. But it was crisp and clear and I just got paid and I was glad I never blew my brains out.
In any case, I've been working for Miette as a proofreader of novels, getting paid $500 per book. I'm finally working in publishing. The pandemic led to the greatest career opportunity of my life. Fuck, I have a CAREER now. Huzzah!
