This is kind of weird, but…I am sincerely very sad about the death of Prince. This is the saddest I have ever been about a celebrity death. In my adult life. When I was a young child & realized that Richie Valens had died thirty years earlier, I was super-super-sad.

I spent all day trying to con Ramona into playing with forgotten toys so that I could sit glued to my computer, listening to Prince songs & looking at photos & video clips. Don’t think I don’t feel bad about that. The poor child was reduced to inventing her own puzzle by laying toy farm animals on magnets depicting the same animals. She matched horse to horse & pig to pig, but the tiger toy was matched to a lion magnet (yeah, her farm has a tiger) & she threw in the towel on the farmer toy & matched it to some ducks.

I don’t even know why I’m so sad about Prince. I’m not a crazed Prince super-fan. I’m not a super-fan of anyone or anything, truthfully. I guess now I have to eat all my dismissive words about people having Feelz about David Bowie’s death. To me, Prince seemed beyond human, & hence, immortal. It’s the only possible explanation for how successfully he rocked high-waisted pants despite being only 5’2″. I truly felt that if Prince existed in the world, maybe that meant the world was not all bad.

I am channeling my confusing feelings about this untimely death in my own way. I am still suffering from an acute case of Bra Fever, & so I am planning to make my next bra purple & lacy, in memory of Prince. I’ll call it “the Purple Rain”. Though, you know, it would be easy to make anything & give it a Prince-appropriate name. Dude loved colors. “Under the Cherry Moon,” “Computer Blue,” “Diamonds & Pearls” (pearl is a color!), “Raspberry Beret,” I could go on for a while here & we’re not even getting into deep cuts yet. He has an entire album named “The Rainbow Children”.

My first priority for tomorrow is to be a decent mom, because I’ve been detoxing from my long-standing to-do list addiction for the last couple of weeks & it’s making me less of the mom I want to be, plus I keep accidentally reading books in which bad things happen to children (just read one in which two kids are fucking electrocuted on a electric fence, WTF forever, & I should mention it was not fiction) & that makes me basically want to cherish Ramona forever & stop anything bad from ever happening to her, including a single moment of boredom or sadness. But! If I can over-stimulate her with my love & attention in the morning, maybe she will nap, & I can do some sewing in the afternoon. & I have some new stuff to show in the meantime. Watch this space! Same bat time, same “Batdance”.

Published by Ciara

Ciara Xyerra wrote zines for the better part of two decades. She has a brilliant & adorable preschooler named Ramona & sews as much as she possibly can. She lives in Lawrence, Kansas with her boyfriend. She enjoys catching up on "The New Yorker", meatball subs, keeping it cranky, intersectional post-third wave feminism, dinosaurs, & monsters. If you have nothing nice to say, she recommends that you come sit here by her, so you can say not-nice things together.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: