Reflections on a Desert Memory

I recently bought an "Emotional Support Dumpster Fire" amigurumi figure. In a stroke of accidental genius, the sign is misspelled to read "Dumpster Emotional Fire." It was originally designed as a tongue-in-heart parody of Pokémon, and though it traveled a long way from an overseas workshop to get to me, its mangled message feels oddly appropriate.
My dear friend is currently facing a devastating illness. We can’t make plans to see each other in person; the logistics of air travel and the necessary isolation periods make a visit nearly impossible. It’s heartbreaking. Meanwhile, back at my house, I find myself saying, "Everything is Just Fine!" while staring at my little crocheted dumpster fire.

Remembering the Good Times

She has always been the kind of person who makes everyone feel seen and included. In her town—a place defined by sprawling casinos and endless golf courses—she is a beacon of genuine social connection. I still vividly remember:
​The "Texas-style" sandwiches we found at that tiny local gem.
​Laughing until our sides ached.
​The look of pure disbelief on her face when I told her about the man who carried a cardboard cutout of the President as an "emotional support" companion.

Looking Ahead

I find myself wondering if I’ll ever return to that remote, scorching desert landscape. I used to appreciate its unusual charm, but it has been years since my last visit. After putting off trips in the past, I’m now facing the quiet, painful realization that a future trip may no longer be an option.