The weight of COVID-19

I'm so jealous of people in movies and on TV shows. They go to bars and sit close on bar stools. They go on cruises and cross-country trips. They eat in restaurants and choose how their steaks are cooked and sample the wine. They cuddle up with each other on the couch, and even though I can literally remember the exact day I last did that with someone other than Coraline (my 9-year-old granddaughter who lives with me), I can barely remember how it feels. I know I will never do it again with that person, but I really hope I will do it with someone again some day. They meet new lovers and have one-night stands, and honestly, I haven't done that in literally decades, a one-night stand, but I still want the fucking option, because now I wish I'd done it more often. (OK, I also wish I could guarantee the sex would be at the very least acceptable, and at the best good, and we all know that's not usually true for women, and that's why I didn't do it often, but I digress .... except to say, I suppose it could happen and now I'll never know.) And they have family dinners around a big table where they laugh and fight and maybe they drink too much, but they always compliment the cook. They put their heads together when they laugh, and they touch each others hands tenderly. They ride in cars together. And, oh my god, they hug. And kiss. I can hardly bear to watch two people sharing a first kiss. I mean, it was hard enough before, but at least it was a possibility before.

When I think of all the times I've taken spontaneous physical closeness for granted ... I wonder if I ever will again. Assuming, of course, I will ever experience it again.

In real life I see people acting like the pandemic doesn't exist and I think, fuck it. Why should I give up some of the best human interactions when odds say I won't get that sick even if I get it. I'm a woman. I have type O blood. I'm in pretty good shape, and I'm not that far into the dangerous age group. Yes, I could stand to lose some weight, but I don't have any health issues. Why shouldn't I hug my 2-year-old grandson who cries because he can't come into my house and hang out with me? We miss snuggling up on the couch, reading books and watching Youtube videos of trains. Why shouldn't I hug my son when I see him? Why shouldn't I have a big karaoke party like I do every other summer, with the windows open and the wine flowing, and the songs sung until the wee hours of the next morning? I could be dead in 2 months anyway, because Coraline is in a situation with people who refuse to social distance, and I can't prevent it. Will I die having never hugged my baby grandson again? Or my son? Or my close friends, who are my chosen family?

My friend Jay told me tonight about a former colleague who's been on a ventilator since some time in July. He recently succumbed to the virus. He was 49 years old. What would he have given for one more hug from his wife or husband, if he had one? Or his kids? His mother? And if more people had taken this seriously months ago, would he still be alive? If other people weren't so fucking selfish, would he still be alive?

That's what I come back to every time I have the urge to say, "Fuck this shit. I'm going to live my life. We're all going to die anyway..." I come back to all the people who wouldn't be dead now, and who wouldn't be permanently disabled or chronically ill, if we'd had leadership who followed the protocols that kept us safe from other deadly incurable viruses, like Ebola. I'll bet if you live in the US you don't know anybody who died from Ebola. If all of us had followed those protocols for COVID-19 and done our duty as good citizens of the country, the world, and put up with just a couple of months of sheltering in ... 

But we didn't. And I can't take risks that might have disastrous consequences for my family and friends just because I miss life as it was. I'm not that selfish. Or maybe I'm just not a sociopath. I can't keep all of them safe .... actually, as of this week I can't keep any of them safe. But I can do everything I can to make myself safe around them and to keep myself safe, because there are people who depend on me and even who care if I'm OK.

As for the people who won't, fuck them. And if it's you, fuck you. Safety needs are the second tier on Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Way below, and thus more important than, eating at a restaurant and drinking beer at a bar. Way below graduation parties and birthday parties and sports and packing into elevators.

I hope I'm preaching to the choir here. I hope you're pumping your fist in agreement and wishing you could hug me, but choosing not to. I hope you're able to keep yourself and your family safe, because I know a lot of people have to work among selfish sociopaths who refuse to cover their snotty noses. (I had to go to court twice last week, and I saw a lot of people showing their stupid noses and refusing to cover their ugly faces.) And I know a lot of you can't keep your children home and safe for various reasons. It's really hard when you want to protect them and you can't.

None of this is easy. But if you're just choosing not to do the best you can because you can't be inconvenienced by a deadly virus, then fuck you. Put on a mask and grow the fuck up. Stay 6 feet apart and grow the fuck up. If my 9-year-old granddaughter can do it, because she doesn't want to make one of her friends or family members sick, so can you.

That was an entire digression. I'm bringing it back. Has anybody else struggled with watching people on TV and in movies? Have you shouted at the screen, "Back up! Six feet! Where's your fucking mask, you moron? People are going to die because of you!" I mean, can anybody even enjoy porn any more? This fucking virus has ruined everything!

Stay safe and stay well, my friends.

Monday, Monday. Can't trust that day...

Monday was a rough day. I was bullied and I was lied about on Monday. And I can't write the story here, so I'll talk about the other side of Monday. People who don't owe me a thing blessed me with incredible love and support on Monday.

My daughter-in-law Dakota, who is simply the best daughter-in-law ever, took Coraline and my 2-year-old grandson Cassius Danger (whom I haven't even hugged since March) on a socially distanced (because she cares about Coraline) hike while I was in court getting custody. And Coraline didn't worry so much for a while, because she was having a good time exploring an abandoned house and hiking in the woods with people she loves and who love her and have always been there for her. And who care enough about her to socially distance no matter how hard it is to not give a worried little girl a hug and a snuggle. It was more than enough.

Shortly after we got home a former student who's from Moldova stopped by to pick up some sweet corn I was selling for a farmer I know (another story), and she brought Coraline and me delicious Russian chocolates and oatmeal cookies. I didn't even know there was a Russian grocery here, but there is and once it's safe, she's going to go there with me and tell me about Russian food.

I picked up the mail and there was a package from another friend from back in the olden days when I homeschooled my kids and we had just discovered the internet (who remembers Prodigy and AOL?). She sent me 4 ceramic affirmation stones and a money order to help pay for a used Trek bicycle I bought Coraline last week. I knew she was sending something, because she told me to expect a package, but I didn't expect such generosity. Yeah, I cried. I'm a sap.

Other friends sent me texts and messages and checked in on me to make sure I was OK. I'm not, but their support makes me feel not so alone. Once I got Coraline to bed, I did an hour of yoga and meditation opened a bottle of wine my friend Maria gave me for my birthday last month and a bag of Clancy's potato chips Dakota dropped off the other day (because I still haven't been to the grocery store since March) and watched a documentary about buskers. I've always wanted to busk, but I'm not that good. I don't think people would toss their coins and bills in my guitar case unless maybe they wanted me to stop playing. I'm reading a book about a guy who busks with a manual typewriter and writes a poem for anybody who needs one and they give him what they can or what they think it's worth. Maybe I need to busk with a typewriter instead of a guitar. I digress ....

I want to be able to write specifically about what's happening, but I don't dare. And that pisses me off because it's my story and as Anne Lamott says

I'm sorry, Anne Lamott. I don't have the courage -- or maybe the stupidity -- to tell this story while it's happening. But someday. Someday I will just for myself. Just to keep the record straight for those who wonder.

And in the meantime I will simply say that being the hero in a story doesn't mean you win like it does in the movies and books. Real life is 20fucking20 and I wouldn't get through it if I didn't have these blessings to count. These many blessings. I'm going to have to work hard to pay all this forward. I look forward to finding those opportunities though.

Do you have stories you can't tell? You can tell them to me. I can't tell all of mine -- nobody does -- but I can listen. One thing 2020 has taken away is the random encounter with strangers who have a story to tell, at least for people like me who are practicing safe living.

One final thought: Heroes wear masks. Heroes keep the rest of us safe by social distancing. Heroes know when to put others before themselves. Be a hero, even if heroes don't always win.

Oh for a road trip

Maybe I need to stop watching TV. I keep seeing things on TV that make me want to do those things and I can't because fucking COVID. Like I was watching In the Dark, which I think if you like reading this blog you would like because it's dark and sarcastic and it makes you want to drink. But in the 4th episode Murphy, the blind (not in real life) star of the show goes on a road trip. Oh, how I love a road trip. And she gets stuck in a bathroom stall and has to crawl under the door of the stall, which is a lot scarier when you're blind I would imagine, but is massively scarier to consider during fucking COVID. Otherwise it would just make a funny story, but not now. And then they actually stop at a diner. And I could smell the old grease and coffee and pancake syrup and the ghost of cigarette smoke and hear the ting of forks against plates and the overlapping voices of people telling their stories. And I could just taste a big bite of juicy burger with lettuce and tomato and ketchup and mustard and mayo and some fat greasy fries dipped in more ketchup and fuck COVID I was there with the backs of my thighs stuck to the red plastic bench seat and the waitress (server ... whatever) asking me if I wanted more coffee. Only I wasn't there and I won't be there for a long time. And now I'm thinking about eating a chocolate malted milk shake with a long spoon, and they leave the extra in the metal cup so you don't waste any, and a piece of pie with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. God I'm full.

But that's from a glass of wine and a bowl of wavy potato chips, which I ate alone on my couch as I watched Murphy on her road trip and wished I'd gone on more myself when I had the chance. And I'm not even going to start in on the sex ....

What do you miss?

Week 31: 2020

Last Saturday, a week ago, I got together with 5 friends at a park, more than socially distanced, to celebrate my and Chuck's birthdays. Chuck said something about missing my blog, and I said I think all the time about writing, but I just can't find that space I used to be in where I wrote about vaginas and dildos and cookies and various funny human foibles. I can't find my voice in this new world, and I don't want to burden people with what's coming out of me when I try to write. And he said he gets it. We all feel exhausted and unnerved and angry and lonely and it's hard to focus. Everything seems too serious, and it's not just the pandemic. The seriousness started almost 4 years ago. I don't have much funniness in me, although I do find moments of joy and delight. I also have lots of bitter. Lots of depressed. Lots of indignation and .... well, rage. Hopelessness even. And now, since March, I summon Dolores, my muse, sit down here to write, intending to focus on the positive things that happen, that keep me going, that somebody might want to read about, and all I get is about a paragraph before I just can't go on, usually because I can't stay on topic or another shoe drops on my head or it turns into a political rant, and I don't know about you but I'm fucking sick of it all. So I've got a bunch of unpublished posts that are about a paragraph long and a lot built up inside me that I suspect nobody wants to read because you've all got your own shit going on, but I need to write and this is my blog so I'm going with what I've got.

A lot of shit has happened this year. It would be a rough year even without a pandemic. It would be a rough year even without Trump. I grab on to any bright spots and clutch them like they're a piece of driftwood and I just fell off the Titanic. From a terribly unjust and expensive custody suit to a surgery to remove my 5 front teeth (because of a fall into a brick hearth 20 years ago) to big old house issues (I need about 5 handy-penii) to being robbed to painful breaks in several relationships to lost jobs and all that goes with a pandemic ... I feel like I'm in a crazy Jim Carrey movie that just won't fucking end. Like this can't actually be real life. I understand why the stakes have to get so high for characters in movies, but even movies eventually resolve and end and our hero gets a fucking break.

This week has been .... I'm not going to list everything. It's too much. We've all got problems. At least I'm not still teaching .... Wait. OK, that's not true. I'm going to be homeschooling Coraline this year. That was decided this week. No biggie. Did it for 12 years with my own kids. Not during a pandemic. Not as a single parent. It's OK though. She's 9 years old now and we'll have fun. She's always busy learning and experimenting. Then again it's not really OK, because we love her school and don't want her to lose her place there, and her community, but not much is under my control. All of my side gigs have slipped off the side and disappeared so I'll have the time. (Ray of sunshine: One of my employers is still paying me half what I was making. I'm extremely grateful. See? There are some bright spots. I'll highlight those for you.)

This week though. What a fucking week. First, my dog Crow has had a nasty ass for weeks now. I took him to a walk-in vet to get his anal glands expressed, because of the nasty, smelly discharge that was leaking out of his asshole, and the tech ruptured one of the glands. After 3 weeks of antibiotics and continued ass-leaking and hosing off his asshole out in the back yard, I took him to another vet who prescribed a different antibiotic. Finally it's working (fingers crossed) and $350 later Crow's stinky leaky asshole is .... well, not as leaky as it was. If you've never smelled what comes out of a dog's anal glands, count yourself among the lucky. It's pretty much a biological weapon.

On the way home from the second vet's office, I was stopped at a red light when my engine revved just a bit. I had my foot on the brake so my van didn't jump forward. In fact, when it was time to go, it didn't go at all. It just idled along at about 5 mph no matter how hard I pushed the pedal. The long line of cars behind me went around when I turned on my flashers and nobody honked at me or flipped me off. I pulled into a parking lot, turned my van off and on, and it worked fine, other than running a little rough. I made an appointment with Darryl. "Should take an hour, two at the most," he said. "It needs a tune-up at the very least. Bring it in tomorrow."

Before I even got up the next day, my lawyer's office called. He wanted to make an appointment for a phone consult. He makes more in an 8-hour day than I do in a month. But OK. I made the appointment and started worrying about the custody trial coming up the middle of August. I don't dare write publicly about that, for so many reasons.

And then it was off to Goodyear on a steamy July day. Coraline and I took books and our camp chairs so we could sit in the shade to wait. Not a mask in sight at Goodyear, other than mine, so we certainly weren't going to sit inside in the AC, despite the temperatures in the 90's. We settled in. For 5 hours. Five fucking hours we sat watching the Main Street traffic and reading our books. Fending off panhandlers. Wishing I'd eaten breakfast. Finally my van was done and I paid Darryl his $500 and left.

Next morning I went out to pick up a package off the porch, and a young man who was illegally parked in the turn-around by my van stepped out of his car and yelled, "Hey, is that your van?"

"Yes," I said reluctantly. Maybe even suspiciously. I really hoped he wasn't going to tell me he'd run into my van. Or worse. It had been a short night. My neighbor has a guy living with him who works all night long on a motorcycle. A loud motorcycle. It requires him, apparently, to rev it over and over and over at 11:00, midnight, 1:00 and again at 5:30 in the morning. I sent the nicest message I could muster to my neighbor at 5:40 am and he agreed it was too much and put a stop to it.

"I think your tire is flat," the stranger said. I looked at my van and thanked him. As if I wouldn't have noticed.

Of course it was. That's the second time I've had a flat tire the morning after I had my van in the shop. Of course it was flat. I came inside and put in a request for roadside assistance. I received the follow-up text and went outside to wait. And wait. Finally, after about an hour and a half, I called the company that was supposed to come out. I won't repeat the conversation. The guy was rude. He said they hadn't gotten a call to come to my house. He didn't sound like he wanted my business. I put in another request. When the text came in, it was from the same damn company. I got on the phone to try to talk to a real person.

And I waited some more. After almost 45 minutes on hold, I told a real person I did not want that company and I still needed someone to come out and fix my tire. She cancelled my other requests -- not that anybody was going to come out anyway -- and sent someone else. Someone who was in another county on another job. Fine. Who wouldn't have expected that? He got to my house when he could. He was polite, quick, got the job done. By the time he left, it had been over 4 hours since I put in my first request and I was just glad I hadn't been sitting on the side of the road on a 95-degree day.

By now my amazing daughter-in-law felt so sorry for me, she invited us over for a socially distanced BBQ that evening. I needed to drop off my ruined tire at Goodyear, which is near their house, so off we went. We got there just before they closed, which I guess is good luck if it hadn't taken the entire afternoon to get it fixed. Darryl said the hole was probably too close to the edge of the tire to plug, but he would try. I knew it wasn't in my stars this week to get such a lucky break and started planning for buying a new tire.

Nevertheless dinner was lovely: chicken on the grill, corn from their amazing, prolific garden, caprese salad, mashed potatoes, homemade lemonade, peach ice cream, and excellent company. After we ate, we made concrete stepping stones with butterfly molds and big leaves from their garden. An oasis from the shit storm that had been my week so far. (In case I haven't made my point about this fucking year, see the contrast between their garden and my garden below.)

Their garden.

Sigh.

It was a wonderful evening except that I brought my bad luck with me. One of their pretty chickens flew up out of the pen into the yard and within seconds one of their dogs was on it and killed it. They were going to butcher it and eat it and I'm sure it was tasty, but it was supposed to enjoy a long, egg-laying life before it ended up in the soup pot. Honestly, I'm surprised it wasn't my dog who killed it, but he stopped when I called him off. Him and his stinky ass.

The week kind of went on like that. I'm not going to describe it all. Suffice to say I somehow screwed up making yogurt in my Instant Pot twice, even though I've made yogurt that way many times. We made chocolate pudding and it didn't thicken (so I made it into rice pudding). I couldn't get eggs today at the farmer's market. Shit like that. Annoyances mostly that just seemed to pile up.

I have more. Some of it is too personal though. Too painful and I don't need to spread my own existential crises here like moldy cheese.

I've had too many weeks like this in 2020, but who hasn't? I try to find the bright spots and highlight them in yellow. It's pouring down rain today, which we desperately need. We're in a moderate drought situation here. But I won't even go into my basement to see how much water is pouring in through the walls. I've done everything I can on my property to divert the water from my foundation. It's just one more old-house issue I need to figure out. I'm not sure if every dark cloud has a silver lining or if every silver lining .... yeah, that doesn't work.

Honestly, I do have good things going on in my life, even in these crazy, unsettled times. Friends who come over for socially distanced porch-sitting. My next-door neighbor to the south came over today and helped me change the way-up-high light bulbs on my outside lights. They've been burned out for .... I don't even remember how long. My next-door neighbor to the north plays his guitar and sings for me from his porch sometimes. We have good, deep conversations. Coraline is happily making Tik ToK videos today so I can sit here and write this whiny post. We're hoping President Butt-Hurt doesn't shut Tik Tok down just because hardly anybody went to his stupid rally in Tulsa. Or maybe it's because of this ray of sunshine named Sarah Cooper.




OMG! I just love her face. I want to socially distance porch-sit with her.

It feels good to be writing here again, so I'm going to keep it up, even if I drive all 12 of you away with my whining.

Before I go I'll tell you the last straw for this week though. In the mail today I got a summons for jury duty. I'm supposed to be there just 3 days after the big custody hearing but I have always wanted to perform my duty as a juror! I've been rewatching Boston Legal the past few months and I'm ready. Denny Crane! (Mmmm. Alan Shore.) I'm called to a grand jury though, which can last for 4 months. And did I mention I'm going to be homeschooling Coraline this year? And do I have to mention we're in a pandemic and I don't have childcare, because otherwise she would be in school so ..... yeah. I think I'm going to have to get out of it. It would be a perfect homeschool activity for her to sit and watch, but those cases are often murder cases and it might not be appropriate. Also, the judge probably wouldn't let her in the jury box. If only they were doing Zoom trials.

Sigh.

How's your 2020 going? Any good news out there? Anybody else need to whine? Feel free to fill the comments. I want to know I'm not alone in this mad, mad world.