Tonight it’s all about Rilo Kiley and Sleater-Kinney and four more months of staying home to work and wondering if the world is going to be ok.
My job sent out the announcement a couple of days ago that, as expected, we won’t be returning to campus until mid-September and maybe not even then. People all over America are thronging in the streets, the stores, and even at the state capitol in Michigan protesting for their “right” to be out from under the mandated quarantine. Mostly red hats. Overwhelmingly white people. I continue to be both embarrassed and amazed by the sheer force of ignorance propelling the mass of lily-white Karens wanting to talk to the manger of the Coronavirus because they need a fucking haircut.
It’s a brand new world we live in and I’m happy remaining in my little tiny home with JD and the dogs and our new inflatable hot tub as we watch the infection numbers steadily pace on day by day.
I was so sad a few weeks ago thinking that I might never get to have a party again or see my friends in any large numbers but it looks like the human race is hellbent on finding out if we can make ourselves burn out like a candle so parties are the least of the concern.
I am finding that my connections with certain people are strengthening. Certain friends who are firmly embedded in my marrow. Chosen family. People I will call when I am 75 and need to lament the woes of the price of bread. The people I will call if something ever happens to JD. The people who have shown up time and time again in times of joy and sorrow and who allow me to show up for them. Connections not built on alcohol, fucking, or foxhole bonding but rather the strength of shared experiences, the joy of shared passions, and the hope of differences so delightful and magical that you fall into them like a bed of magic feathers and roll around laughing and snorting.
I have a new friend, Jolene, who was so unexpected and magical that I am still marveling at how she came to be. She’s young but her wisdom is so breathtaking. In one conversation this evening, she offered something about what I went through with my ex-wife that was more helpful, more powerful than all the therapy sessions I’ve had trying to tease apart the trauma and rage. I felt more SEEN in the those few moments than I can even describe. This is not to say that therapy hasn’t been helpful or that JD or my other friends haven’t helped me because they they have all been the reason I survived any of it. It’s just that Jolene summed something up in one sentence that I didn’t know could be articulated. I love her for it. Eternally.
My days have been revolving around surviving as best we can with food and frivolity. I’ve baked so many pies and bread that we’ve both gained a good 15 pounds. I’ve cleaned, organized, catalogued, thrown away, and touched almost every surface in this house with more yet to do. I’ve talked to friends who I lost contact with. I’ve pet the dogs, read books, pined away for a trip to the bookstore, and watched endless television.
I put my Fitbit back on and discovered that I have a long way to go to build my stamina back to what it was 4 years ago but I’m determined to do it.
Other than that, my head feels clear and I’m feeling a happiness settle in that is both comforting and strange.
I had ambitions of starting a quarantine blog but I suspect everyone and their dog is doing the same thing. Still, ideas are swirling and my creative fires are starting to spark.
I’ve got a LOT of projects to finish. Some of them, very exciting.
My goal over the next few weeks is to establish a better routine. Make a list of to-do’s and actually do the things. Take care of the law school stuff. Continue getting rid of shit in the house. Blast music. Walk more. Drink more water. Smile more.
And live.
Live like there is nothing else to do.
Just live.
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