According to a study by the Institute of Incomplete Information, 9 out of 10. That effectively sums up the essence of life right now during this seemingly interminable pandemic. Lies have become facts and facts have become lies. It’s a wholly uncivil war.
Meanwhile, I’m unable to maintain a complete and cohesive thought. And for some reason, I’ve dropped every single cap to a jar or bottle that I’ve handled today. EVERY LAST ONE of them. Did the earth’s gravitational pull suddenly increase? Conspiracy theorists might posit this as the reason. Meanwhile, flat earthers deny gravity altogether. I won’t even venture to discuss the holocaust deniers or the myriad reasons they should be sterilized.
I know it’s not just me though. We’re all experiencing pandemic fatigue. Yeah, it’s a real thing. The reality is, it’s a stressful time for nearly everyone (with the exception of “people” like the Kardashians who can blow $800,000 to rent a private jet and island for a weekend getaway. We really should give those poor folks a tax break.) And when there’s stress, my allergies attack. Of course, the ragweed and cottonwood don’t help. Put the three together and my nose becomes a highly efficient phlegm factory – the operations of which can only be shut down with Benedryl. Unfortunately, it also shuts down my already challenged cognitive operations too.
As such, I’m making a grand effort to forget that next week at this time, we MAY know the results of the election. My gut is telling me that King Baby is on his way out; in very much the same way it twisted into knots before the last election as a harbinger of the four coming years of unimaginable surrealistic chaos and sadness. Going out in the midst of a pandemic he enabled is decidedly apt. So I’m going with that. Poetic justice is long overdue.
But back to today and THIS moment.
The sun is out. It’s actually warm enough for me to be working outside at the Ferndale Project. I’m listening to some jazzy bossa nova and drinking a chai tea. That’s at least four things I can add to my gratitude journal later. And I’ll have spaghetti for dinner – as I do every Wednesday. Because I have to have “events” to look forward to each week. And meager as it may sound, spaghetti is one of them.
So yeah, there are positive things that have been born of this pandemic. Besides an increased appreciation for durum wheat products with tomato sauce, I’ve found more mindfulness, a steady meditation practice, and a stronger relationship with my husband, father-in-law, sisters, and a handful of friends with whom I take long walks.
Speaking of walks, the time has come for me to pack up my laptop and my Benedryl stupor and make my way back home. My cats will be there waiting for me. And regardless of what happens in next week’s election, they’ll be there when I return home next Wednesday too.
Right along with a big ole’ plate of spaghetti.