Where You Been

So... how's it going?

I have told people lately that I feel a bit like Amy Jellicoe in the early episodes of Enlightened, right before she gets the massive bill from the Hawaiian rehab facility where she recentered herself and played with turtles. Mainly because I am slowly, deliberately recovering from the consecutive gut-punches I received in December and January, which included Nuno passing away despite so many people pitching in to help; the demise of two anchor freelancing gigs and the retrenching of a third; and, you know, the world. I have some incredible friends who bought me a really nice blanket from Pottery Barn as part of a sympathy gift, and I spent a lot of January, February, and March hiding underneath it. (The blanket, which is a deep red, is put together in such a way that it feels like a weighted blanket even though it isn't, and it is almost too comforting. "I feel like fucking Linus," I said to my therapist this morning.) My brain was static; there were many days where the weather here was gloomy and the sky was white, and it was almost too perfect of a reflection of my numbed-out thought processes.

It wasn't all bad. I had some friends visit, and we had adventures and tasty food at new-to-me places. I went to three (three!) Broadway shows between December and January, including a trip to see Chess with some dear hometown friends, including Jenn, who I've been friends with since we were three. I saw some concerts, mostly for work (see below), although I've been trying to go to more shows "for me" lately and I've succeeded at that, seeing my twee heroes Heavenly (for the first time!!!!) at The Sinclair and the avant-pop marvel Gelli (pronounced "jelly") Haha at Sonia. I did some things that were "normal"—I watched some wrestling, I drank some Snapple, I burned some candles, I went to water aerobics and sound baths. I called home a lot, too.

Nuno's passing broke me in a way that I'd never experienced before. When I was gearing up to actually sit down and write this dispatch, I realized that the most recent update to this newsletter—which I had such high hopes for 10 months ago—was the one I wrote right after his tumors were discovered. That was the last day of July. The next four-and-change months were a slowly unfolding horror movie inside the apartment that he'd helped make a cozy homestaed, complete with moments of hope (I will forever be grateful to Ivy for setting up an unbelievably successful GoFundMe) and gruesome bits. The ugliness was more emotional than physical, although I did spend an ungodly amount of money on wet wipes because of what the tumor did to the left side of his mouth.

The last weekend I was blessed by so many friends: Poornima and Priya were in town, and they commiserated over pet grief with me at a luxe sports bar; Kelsey was a hero as always, checking in on Nuno while I was out with them even though I was only gone for three hours max; Kenny drove us to the hospital on that awful final day, took me to The Cheesecake Factory for lunch afterward, and disposed of the litter box and a couple of too-visible pieces of cat furniture when he walked me back upstairs and into my too-quiet apartment. I talked on the phone with Maggie when I got home. Other friends like Jonathan and Nick sent sympathy cards—they were mixed in with holiday cards, because of course—and a couple of weeks ago Al surprised me with a gorgeous painting of Nuno by our mutual friend Kaeti, who founded the pet painting concern Fox & Sable last year. I also got a tattoo of Nuno, my first larger piece, based off a 2016 (!) painting by the inimitable Matt and the flowers on my Marimekko comforter and put together with incredible care by Tammy at Brilliance.

I've been lucky to be surrounded by so many friends, more than the ones named above. I also was very blessed to have had Nuno treated at Angell Animal Medical Center, which has the incredible social worker Michelle Mezansky as part of its caring, compassionate staff. Her one-on-one counseling sessions and the group therapy meetings she organizes have been incredibly important in aiding my return from the abyss. The volunteer sessions I've picked up at Gifford Cat Shelter have also been helpful, especially since I get to take breaks from cleaning with the facility's ever-rotating residents.

And I've been even more lucky to have you, the people who have hung in there despite my absence. This message, which I'm making public since a lot of people have very understandably dropped to the free tier, is intended as a dam-break of sorts, a way for me to acknowledge the long layoff and attempt, feebly, to get back to business. Even though I haven't felt like saying much at all lately, I need to get back to writing—if only to get certain brilliant ideas of mine out of my head and into the world.

Grief is a process that is at times incomprehensible. (Big revelation there, Johnston.) I still cry and get emotional over the broken bond I have with the weird little black cat who head-butted his way into my heart nearly 10 years ago, and I still sing my Nuno-specific parody of Ass Ponys' "Little Bastard" to my not empty, but much quieter apartment. I probably won't stop doing those things, but at least these days feel a little less surrounded by static.

Yes, the title of this post is inspired by the 1993 Dinosaur Jr. record. Not only because it's still pretty good 30-plus years later, but because one of my favorite wrestlers, Kyle O'Reilly, reps for them often.

More me:

• Other shows I attended and wrote about: New Edition, Lily Allen, Romeo Santos and Prince Royce, RAYE.

• I interviewed Nate Ruess about the reunion of The Format and a cool community-organizing event the band hosted in select cities.

• I reviewed the witchy, wonderful new album by Tori Amos.

• I updated Rolling Stones' ranking of every Harry Styles track, opining on offerings from Kiss All The Time. Disco, Occasionally.

• And for Haverford Magazine, I interviewed Dr. Kiame Mahaniah, Massachussetts' newly appointed secretary of health and human services, and Bing Broderick, co-founder of the delightful Dorchester bookshop justBook-ish.

Thanks for reading maura dot ghost, a newsletter by Boston-based writer and journalism instructor Maura Johnston. You can subscribe for free, or you can upgrade to a paid subscription. Want to support me but are afraid to commit? You can also drop me a tip, or you can hire me to do some editorial consulting.

More soon. xx