Missed July. My best intentions may not have been good enough.
Back in January, I wrote, “Life can change in an instant. We seem to forget that now could be the moment before it changes. Those big memory markers in life, the ones that make you remember the date? They’re out there. You could wake up tomorrow and some shit could go down and then BLAMMO! Memory marker. These are the good ol days.”
I liked January better than July, and not only because it was cold in January. My intake receptors are overloaded. I marvel at how other people are handling these “challenging, uncertain, unprecedented times” (gag me with a spoon, aight?)
I am not myself right now. I mean, of course I’m myself, I have no other choice, but I am enduring a multitude of existential crises and I’m not handling them well. I’ve read substantial commentary on how “whatever gets you through” is OKAY. My current OKAY seems to be avoidance of expression. Suppression. Super unhealthy. Really, it’s an avoidance of conflict. “I will not dance, even if the beat is funky.”
Pleasantries instead of real connection. My diet is heavy in frozen confections and pleasantries. I will look up from my bowl of orange sherbet to nod and smile.
Anxiety-ridden bitches like me are still riding the wave of “OH YOU THINK I’M AN ALARMIST?!?”
Earlier this summer, I was expressive, even yell-y, but I’ve since conserved my energy. I was more a poked bear and now I feel rather lemme-just-curl-up-under-my-hard-shell-as-I-must-protect-my-squishy bits. Please think of me when you see doodle bugs … or yellow wallpaper.
Before I fall right off my rocker, I will share with you a few of the pleasantries, small photographic markers of my gratitude.
My green space
Office Administrator bought lollies. I find a 4:00 lolly helpful.
One day I engaged in “risky behavior” and met Benson for lunch. We did not hug, neither hello or goodbye. We ate tacos.
They were so good, I then took The Mister there for our first date in four months. When we left, The Mister said, “That is the most normal I’ve felt in a long time.”
That’s where we are, trying to balance threat of spreading the plague with our deteriorating mental health. We’re still living, on a smaller, modified scale. The list of things we don’t do is long. As is the list of things we long to do.
I think it’s safe to say we all have at least one shared memory marker, and yet, these are still the good ol days. It’s all fucked up, but here we are. My gratitude lies in something is better than nothing.