There are some days when I never really get dressed.
Of course, life before this virus swirled in and stopped all the clocks and created new pathways through the grocery stores and decided that some of our lives were far more valuable than other of our lives kind of looked the way it does for me now, only I thought it was just depression and I did not have a virus to blame for not getting dressed or the ennui of really not wanting to actually walk the dog or get off the couch or actually do much of anything and the only day I ever looked forward to was Wednesday, or that night really when I'd gather with my friends at the bar and play trivia and even then it was only because there was a pin on the calendar marking a point in time that was different than all the other points in time and so it all just wrapped around and around and around and around.
That was a long sentence. If you made it to this one, I'll fill you in that time now doesn't really seem much different except that I now am aware that the days are even longer...stretched thin with the wanting of something, anything, to make them seem like I might be able to find a pin to pop the ennui and make them seem somehow different? There's no bar, there's no Wednesday evening gathering to demarcate time and there's no gasping for air laughter or snarky side remarks because we're all too busy trying our best to be kind and gentle with one another since things are different. Except they're not really different. But they are different.
I walk the dog in my pajamas not making any effort at all since there's no reason to make an effort at all and I never showered before but it is even less of a necessity now and I show up at my coffee shop later and later and later because even that doesn't matter anymore. I show up because I absolutely need to get my daily four shots of espresso and there's no way I'll ever not go but now it doesn't matter to me when I actually get it. I find myself forgetting to take my vitamins, forgetting to eat, forgetting about time.
I dream of long dusty days. Where the masks that I wore protected me from dust storms and white-outs I could see coming across the horizon when I chose to wear hot pink holey tights and unicorn short shorts and love goggles and rode my bike into the wind and never felt more alive. Alive and unafraid and wondering what adventure might greet me at the next corner. Hugs were free, love had no attachments, gifts showed up just when you needed them most and every single day you were reminded by a stranger, gently, kindly, exactly who you were. If I tilt my head in just the right way, it is just like right now. The virus is that stranger here to wake me up.
In the books that are written about these pandemic times, how will they talk about all of us who just simply gave up while we were transitioning to greatness?
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