Truth be told, my life ….
Truth be told, my life continues to be void of such things (used to be it was only sports I boycotted!). Not that I was a big-time newshound. I wasn’t. But the small, curious part of me that was never went through withdrawals. I’m fine in my self-protected space. But now it’s time to transition back into society.
Is it a relief to be able to be “free” again? Not for me, it isn’t.
I’m self-entertaining, so isolation/quarantine has not really been a hardship. As a matter of fact, being mandated to do what I like, yet striving to avoid it, is pretty ironic. Isolating—it played right into my hand.
I know some people will have used the time to be constructive and productive.
I’m sure many have come out with pristine closets and drawers, newly painted walls and freshly shampooed carpets, otherwise known as “pandemic binge-cleaning and isolation organizing.”
Not me, though. I went into unproductivity mode.
I took it upon myself to catch up on all the TV series that I’d missed in my pre-COVID life. On any given day, at any given time, I could be found with Netflix or Amazon Prime as my companion. I believe watching TV became my full-time job.
Now some of you may think that was a profound waste of time. All those hours never to be lived again.
Well, you’re right. The hours are gone, but I got to meet new folks and get to know them a bit. I guess you could say they all became my community.
For example, I was allowed to see the many sides of Bruce Willis’ personality. His fierceness as well as his playfulness. The strong authoritarian strength of Sandra Bullock. The charm and determination with which she reached her goal.
And “Downton Abbey?”
Don’t get me started on that household full of rascals and scoundrels. Connivers, along with the company of wealthy, elite entitlement. And loyalty? I want a Mr. Carson in my life! Personally, though, I’m pretty sure I would tire of getting all dressed up for dinner with nowhere to go but downstairs!
During all these months, I really have thought about writing something. I lacked the focus. Oh, I had ideas. I just couldn’t concentrate to flesh them out.
My thoughts were so fleeting.
I thought to write about how I missed physical touch—especially hugs. About my generous, kind neighbors, my family, the plague itself. And trying to wrap my head around the whole big world being affected? That’s still difficult for me to comprehend. I mean, come on—the whole globe?
I considered writing about my car, the number of miles I haven’t driven and the money for fuel I haven’t spent, the places I haven’t been and the questions I have. Will I still be confident enough to hit the freeways again?
During the time it was declared unsafe to be anywhere, I would take my dog with me to my car. I’d open all the windows, kick the seat back a bit and pretend we’d just gotten back from somewhere. Kinda nutty, but you do whatya gotta do.
So with all the thoughts running rogue in my head, I found nothing to write about.
At least nothing that took up more than a few sentences.
And now this, writing about not writing anything.
I’m sure it’s a sign of these crazy COVID times.