There’s nothing like a medical national emergency to put a damper on your life.
Damper? I mean totally rearrange the moon and stars.
I personally think some aspects of this “epidemic” (actually it’s an ENdemic where I live) is blown out of proportion. For one thing, I like to maintain a level of calm in a sea of uncertainty. Even in the midst of 9-11, I didn’t get rattled, although by the end of September I was seriously depressed. I’m always looking for the positive. I’m well; my family is well. What’s going to happen is going to happen, including dying. There’s no escaping death, whether it be by virus, cancer, a bus running you over, or that Bambi that leapt from the side of the road right into your windshield. I’m not offended by the term “boomer remover” – I am a boomer, after all, and at my age I’m closer to the end than to the beginning. Besides, just try to remove me, I double dare you. I question motives of media, both news and social, and try to look at the hysteria in an objective manner. Whipping the masses into a frenzied panic is a dangerous sport, and I’m wondering who will be benefiting from the wild toilet paper and cleaning product runs.
If I try to maintain a level of positivity, I’m accused of not having feelings for those with compromised immune systems. If I sneeze because of seasonal allergies, I’m looked at like I’m Typhoid Mary. You can’t win.
Most of us are never going to get this virus, and if we do, most of us will survive. This is according to the CDC. Sheesh. We’re a resilient bunch, aren’t we? I believe, anyway.
I think I watch too much TV news. My husband is a news junkie. He’s watching TV news while he scrolls for news on his phone. I just can’t take it. I’m at this moment typing this while “How The West Was Won” is playing on TCM. (Thank the Lord for TCM. It’s keeping me sane. I need a dose of 1930s Bette Davis RIGHT NOW.)
I know I’m on Facebook way, way too much. The political misinformation was bad enough, but now with the medical madness mixed in with conspiracy theories of the tin foil hat variety, I find myself getting the same sickness (not CoVid19) in the pit of my stomach that I got after 9-11. A chipping away at what I like to think of is a sunny exterior. An erosion of my heart and soul. A darkness like Voldemort settling in from the clouds. FEAR. It’s a real thing that can cause more pain than the actual illness.
The grocery stores are depressing, as is Sam’s Club, where I usually go to buy supplies for the bed and breakfast. You have to get there by SEVEN AM to get toilet paper, and even then it’s a crap shoot if you’ll walk out with your two packages (current limit). People, I run a bed and breakfast. I need toilet paper.
Taking the chihuahua on a walk is good, which I did the other day before it snowed. I walked around the Colorado College campus, where students where playing field hockey. (I think it was field hockey; I’m not much for sports.) It was nice to see kids cheering from the sidelines and the announcer over the loudspeaker in broadcasting mode, especially since now there’s no sports to watch (I’m still not much for sports, but it seems to calm some).
To change the downward direction of my psyche, I thought I might do something creative. Every time I walk into my office/craft room, there’s this painting I started about 15 years ago staring me in the face. A painting of orchids. Nope. Can’t finish that, not feeling it. I’ve been collecting pine needles in my yard (from my neighbor’s trees, it’s been windy here). I look at them and tell myself I should wash them and make a basket, even a small one, but no, not feeling that either. I need to go through my beads and wire and finish a couple of projects but just can’t compel myself to move toward it.
That’s it. Tonight, I’m going to write. Or re-write. Or read what I wrote. I have to do that or succumb to negativity and I’m not going there. Maybe I’ll drink and write. It worked for the masters.
It’s difficult, yes, even for me, to shrug off perceived impending doom, but it must be done. And whether it’s writing or some other creative pursuit, go there. Grow your brain, don’t rot it.
