Around This Time a Year Ago

(perfectionism, temporality, and the futility of grasping)

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Mountain Brook by Albert Bierstadt

I am in Montana, and the bright overhead lights above me are frequently disturbed by these tiny tiger-striped moths whose origin and purpose is mysterious; unknown to me and the family I work for. There may be fifty or a hundred of these moths flying around in this above-garage room across from the main cabin. There’s a mini fridge in the corner which, in twenty-four hours, destroyed all my vegetables via freezing, and a small microwave, a small toaster oven, a bed, two tables. There goes another moth. Another.

I landed here yesterday after driving for a day and a half. The last portion of the drive led me up a Forest Service road covered in snow and ice. I didn’t know what to expect when I got here. It’s beautiful, with quirks. I don’t have very much control over my environment because I am at the will of my employers, who are trying very hard to make me comfortable and whose efforts I appreciate. I didn’…