I've been meaning to start journaling during "these uncertain times." Aren't you sick AF of those words? What do they even mean? But here we are, in these uncertain times, and boy are they uncertain.
I'm using this space because it still exists (thanks, Internet) and don't expect anyone to know it's here or read it. That's OK. I want to remember these uncertain times and with 44 around the corner, I don't remember that much that isn't directly applicable to maintaining life these days. I like typing more than writing - writing hurts my hand :( - remember, I'm old. This will be a place for my thoughts to spill out with little thought of editing.
It's August 9th. We have been in quarantine for 146 days.
WHAT. THE. F&*%.
I have used the word "unprecedented" more in the past 146 days that I have in the last 44 years, all added up. I don't even know how to feel about things because none of this has ever happened before. Oh sure, our president just said out loud on a podium in front of people that a small child in the audience knows more about the economy than a Congress member with a degree in economics. Oh sure, murder hornets. Oh sure, Beirut just exploded. Oh sure, there are a million Chinese muslims being kidnapped into weird slavery factories called "re-education centers." Oh sure, of course someone posted a photo of a crowded high school hallway and got suspended for it.
Remember the time in 8th great I had to wear a pair of gross PE sweatpants under my (very conservative) denim skirt because it didn't touch the floor when I knelt down on my knees? But god forbid we require masks during global pandemic, because "our freedoms!" People are WACK, y'all.
I'm luckier than most. I miss my work and restaurants and movie theaters and not having nose zits from wearing a mask. But my spouse is still working, we have a rent-controlled apartment and health insurance. I've never been bored a day in my life (props, GenX). I've done all the NYT crosswords for 2020, 2019, and I'm now working on 2018. I cook. I clean. I start projects that I sometimes finish. I drink too much. I zoom zoom zoom around the room room. I walk. I do yoga. I read. I watch movies. This is not a bad life. In fact I kinda like it. Oh wait, here comes the existential doom.
What happens in the fall when the time changes and it's cold and wet and dark and I can't spend all afternoon in the sunshine? I'm legit worried about depression. Do I get to worry about depression when others are worried about childcare, paying rent, food, schooling, sickness, and death? I guess I do. But it feels off.
Everything feels off. The world is irrevocably changed. That's terrifying. And yet, I hope it's true.
I applied for a dreamy job yesterday. I hope I get it. I hope I don't. I hope I write more. I hope I get to look back on these uncertain times someday as a beautiful time of growth and opportunity. In the meantime, I'm going to go to the farmers' market and repot some plants and meet up with some friends in the Park for a drink and order takeout and watch John Oliver and cry because the world is legit fucked.
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