Every day is a little different from the last. And at the same time they blend together imperceptibly. Everything that ever was reality is now smooshed precariously, sometimes neatly, sometimes anxiously and even peacefully into the walls of our apartment. Work, therapy sessions, Dr’s appointments, meetings, shopping (primarily online now) picking out my best t-shirt/sleepwear for Zoom meetings…

I’m getting used it but I’m also getting antsy. I’m scared to get too comfortable.

But I am…comfortable.

And also terrified.

How could I not be terrified looking at the news and all the fucked up shit that’s happening from Pennsylvania Ave on down. The hoards of White bodies sunbathing in the Great Lawn while Brown bodies continue to be brutalized


But how can I be hateful and angry when I’m here with my wonderful husband and our skittish but beautiful cat? How can I be hateful and angry when I have a job that allows me to work from home, have food to eat and to cook, have clean running water and access to technology? How can I be hateful and angry when I have love in my life?

Apparently I can be hateful and angry and lonely and happy and comfortable and joyful all at once, all in one day and in one moment as well. This is why it has never been more important for me to manage boundaries for myself between that which I can effectively do something about and that which I cannot at the moment. I have to be even more careful about how much violence, tragedy porn and “news” I consume as well trying to be mindful of the point when mindless distractions become empty guilty pleasures (which are sometimes necessary) that reach a point where I have no idea what it means anymore. This is when I have to stop, be still and try to get squared with myself a bit, find some balance, initiate things that require inner resources that can’t be bought, that require more of me then just clicking on “buy” “submit” or “enter.”

I tend to isolate very easily in general and right now, being forced into isolation because of this global pandemic looks and means something different for everyone. For me, part of it looks likes allowing my rage over injustice to pour out in the safe space I have with my partner but also knowing when to switch over to something that feeds, inspires and regenerates me. I haven’t left my neighborhood, and by that I mean anywhere within a five block radius, in over a month. I have mental flashes every day about walks I used to take in downtown Manhattan, shops I used to frequent, museums, lunch hours with friends, and yeah


Eerie images of completely evacuated streets in midtown in the IG feed of family member who lives closer to the area than me, make me realize that none of my nostalgic flashes resemble that reality anymore. And to be honest, nostalgic memories of my life pre: corona virus are starting to fade, being gently but firmly nudged out of place by this strange new normal.

It took me weeks to allow myself to allow myself to be transported by books or films, because again, I was scared to get comfy and familiar with a safely wrapped up narrative only return to one in unprecedented unpredictable chaos.  And yes I know that the words unpredictable chaos are kind of an an oxymoron but since the country is being run by one, I feel like it’s actually an appropriate description of the situation.

I’m just now starting to feel like I can curl up with distractions like that and land someplace remotely safe afterward.

Shit is precarious…but also hardcore character developing.

I just picked up a coloring book I’ve had for almost a year and never used. It’s time to do stuff like that and more. I no longer have excuses not to. The lessons, like the flood of contradictory feelings keep pouring in too quickly for me to parse out, but if this goes on much longer, the time to more clearly document transformation as a result of this global tragedy/breakthrough will present itself as well.

That time has begun…






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