“I have often wondered about the reason for the sadness in a world where tears are just a lullaby." (Carole King)
After the rain, I reassess. I have come out of the laboratory again, and my brain crackles with new information, new marching orders. In Marvel’s “Captain America,"
(more) in the blue glow of a mysterious cube, both the hero and the villain are given superhuman powers that enhance their best and worst qualities. I have been enhanced. I cannot now leap buildings or heave cars. I can sleep. I can sleep easily breathing like a fish. I do not have gills. I am exactly the same, only better and worse. Better because I am less depressed, worse because I deal with new side effects.
“You are from the planet beneath,” a friend said loftily last night. “The planet Melancholia.” If I were a superhero from that planet, I would wear rain gear with my tights… The citizens of Melancholia wear the best REI has to offer because it rains all the time here, the darkest and most penetrating rain possible. Sometimes meds aren’t enough; we have to have protection. We live in a land of swamp and of rain. We wear our Wellingtons on our feet and use the same material for shields over our hearts. Melancholia is also known for its streetlamps, on every corner, and its festivals of light, every other day and sometimes every five minutes, depending on the onslaught of the Forces of Misperception that persuade us to devalue ourselves and the Forces of Exhaustion, just as potent. It is not easy to be a citizen here, even part-time. Some of us inherited our citizenship and would give anything for a transport out. But shuttles leave on the hour and just as many arrive.
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