Here We Come To A Turning of The Season (Summer into Fall, 2022)

 Sometime around the last third of July, I decided that August was going to be the beginning of fall. 

Admittedly, this was probably 'round about the time that I was starting to get delirious from acute Summer Reading Program Sickness (There are only so many times you can utter "Yaaaaarrrr! You get ALL YOUR PRIZES! Dig into the treasure chest, enter the raffle, choose your book, and don't forget about loving books!"within a one hour period without this occurring), so I wasn't necessarily using all of my brain. But the bit of my addled brain that was working...kind of...came up with this reasoning:

1. Because Summer Reading Program Ends July 31st, due to children going back to school around August 1st...

2. And thus, reasonably, When children go back to school, it's called "The Fall Semester"

3. Therefore, August 1st is the Fall Semester...

4. In conclusion, August 1st is the beginning of Fall

Does it make sense to any person other than a perimenopausal children's library-manager-bureaucrat whose brain has been absolutely fried by SRP shenanigans, and whose body is absolutely drained by the heat, dear god the heat? Probably not, but whatever. It made sense to me!

And what do you know? August 1st rolled around and...things got better. The first half of July seemed to be filled with a lot of sunny, humid, 90+ degree days; the second half of July was maybe a little better, especially with the SRP finish-line in sight. And August...It wasn't immediately or consistently cooler those first few days, but after that....August has been absolutely charming. Dog Days? No such thing! For the last ten days or so, we've been enjoying days that aren't too humid, and that don't get past the low 80s, and plenty of rain here and there to get rid of the flash-drought-stricken grass. (And also, let's not discount a  more sustainable workload in my professional life.) I've been sleeping with my windows open at night; I've been contemplating going outside for recreational purposes. I've been trying to rebuild my social life and Get Out There, more. And in the mornings, it has almost felt cool. In the evenings, it feels...golden. Gentle. Those are the words that come to mind: golden, gentle evenings, filled with the feeble chirps and creaks and sing-songs of crickets and cicadas, making their racket in defiance of the encroaching empty barrenness of the winter and the dying that inevitably comes with it.

(Okay, I know it's not so anything poetic as summer insects screaming against the coming death; it's got something more to do with them trumpeting their final attempts at mate-reproduce-marry-fuck-kill.)

But here is the thing: each late summer, as I listen to the cicadas and crickets begin to protest their impending doom...I hear an echo of my own encroaching end. I can't be the only one, can I? I can't be the only one realizing that the death of summer is a somehow significant milestone in another year slowly marching its way to its end. The death of summer is the approach towards the fallow months, where I, at least, am prone to taking stock, remembering, honouring my labours, thinking of the people I've met, loved, talked to, yearned for, laughed with, held close, advised, supported, dismissed, scorned, reviled. (Yes, there are even a couple of those.)

These late summer days, as well as the coming autumn, are beautiful gifts, really--and sad gifts--an annual reminder of our own coming harvests and decays and ends, and an annual recollection of the fruitful, endless numbered days that will one day run out. But until they do run out, I'm just gonna sit here drinking my Pumpkin Spice Latte coffee that I found at Wal-Mart last week. 

And if you are judging me for shopping at Wal-Mart, whatevs. Clearly you're not a basic bitch with a poetic soul fighting a losing battle against inflation. 

Life in Miniature

For one literal hot second, back at the beginning of this year, I decided that 2021 would be the year that I buy a house. 

Never mind two things: #1) that I don't actually want a literal house (a townhouse or condo is more of my jam, kthxbye, and even now, living in an apartment, I refer to my home as a "house",), and #2) that buying a house  in 2021 might be cutting it a bit close in terms of my current apartment leasing situation, which now ends in the spring of 2022...in general, according to my lofty, divorced-from-the-tomfoolery-of-the-pandemic goals, this was it. The year I would buy a house.

Well, guess what? In the most technical sense of the word, in 2021, I did buy a house. 

...just not one that I can live in. 

Most of us, at this point, have established some homebound hobbies, or pandemic pursuits, or quarantine quackeries. Me, I've developed (or at least re-established) several; drawing and playing with paints and blogging and puzzles and colouring and journaling and fuck, I literally can't keep track of them all. But this...this has been creeping up on me for a while, until the time came over this last month for me to give in. I went onto eBay and somehow managed to find a beautiful dollhouse, already built and ready for my "creative" eye, and mindbogglingly, only a few miles south of where I lived, and thus, easily delivered. 

The thing is, I have a lot of conflicted feelings about this hobby (because, spoiler alert, the dollhouse is only part of the hobby. Miniatures--as in, dioramas and god only knows what else--are a kinda big thing...ha...paradox much?) ANYWAY, part of it goes back to my original insecurities about art and crafts and creativity and vulnerability and failure, but more than that is the fact that...this is not the first time I pursued this hobby. The first time I did, I was a confused and isolated 11-year-old who didn't know how to interact with people or make friends; who was absorbing what in hindsight now seems like a fairly steady diet of trauma and rejection; who wasn't happy with her current life but didn't know how to change it. I had a dollhouse and a separate universe that I immersed myself in, and while my family went along with it, sometimes I now wonder if that was the healthiest thing for me to immerse myself in an imaginary life with imaginary people and circumstances, rather than leaning into actual life and reality. And when I mentioned all of this to my therapist earlier this week, her question was, Well, is it a coincidence that you've taken this up again, at this particular time?

I don't have answers to that. But I do have a dollhouse. And hopefully, I still have a healthy grip on actual life and reality. 

Plague Diaries, Issue 37: April 18, 2020

How can a day be so lovely, yet so wretched? I suppose I will have to chalk it up to yet another strange thing during these strange times.

It was a good day today; I mainly puttered about the house in a leisurely fashion, with nothing more than the usual apocalyptic nonsense to vex me. But by the end today, I was very sad, indeed. Lonesome and just feeling some sort of way, and strangely, homesick--not so much for Florida as a place, but for my Florida family and experiences and history. Whenever I travel there I resent going to that overheated swamp of weirdos which is, even now, redolent with the stink of my less than perfectly happy childhood and young adulthood. But now that travel is impossible, I want nothing more to be in that state, in the company of my sisters, griping about the heat drinking wine and eating cheese  and remembering years past and laughing about present absurdities. I want nothing more than to hear the rattle of tree frogs and crickets and cicadas and to walk on the beach and hunt for shells and drive the roads of my hometown and remember.

I love it here in Indiana and in Bloomington--the thought of being quarantined in Florida gives me the horrors--but oh, dammit, I do miss my family right now, and I hate that I cannot be with them.

To keep my sanity, I'll end by focusing on the good things today. It was an absolutely beautiful day today, fine and clear and bright and cool. I did another yoga session via Yoga with Adriene on YouTube and that was grand, to be able to direct my mind to things other than this current hellscape of sickness, both physical and spiritual, in the world. Middle Sister picked up the phone every time I called; I don't know that I could ask for a more supportive sister, especially now.

Daily Indiana COVID-19 Counts
Total Number of Cases: 10,641 (up from yesterday's 10,154)
545 people have died.

Daily Gratitude: 
Downton Abbey. I've watched this show dozens of times before, but it's so solid and sumptuous and reassuring right now.

Daily Funnies: 

Plague Diaries, Issue 22: April 3, 2020

Oh my gosh, y'all. The best thing happened to me today.

As I drove away from The Professor's home this evening, I noticed, once again, how many people are out and about. In singles, mostly, but some couples and families, all of whom were wanting to enjoy the freakishly warm weather. And in that particular neighborhood, it's not surprising. There's a park nearby, and the streets are wide and tree-shaded and the houses are cute and it's a good area to walk around in, even when the world is ending.

I was approaching a stop sign, and noticed two males and a dog coming close. They were still a little ways away, but I slowed to let them cross the road. And, involuntarily, I broke out into a huge grin--one of the males was a colleague of mine! We recognized each other at the same time, and his face bore an identical smile. I rolled down my car window and they stood about 8 feet away and talked for a few moments and assured each other we were keeping well, and I couldn't stop being delighted to see one of my coworkers, in the flesh, face to face.

Seeing my colleague today was a fantastic reminder--Our family, our friends, our co-workers, our favorite bartenders and baristas and pharmacists and receptionists and neighbors who we used to see far more often--all of them all still out there, hopefully safe trying to survive and live our lives as best we can until we are released from this strange alternate universe. We don't see each other, and can't often speak and right now can't hug or shake hands, but we are all still here. And god willing and the crick don't rise, we will be here when this ends. Let's try to hold on to that, if we can.

Also, today is Friday. What does this even mean anymore? I'm going to do my best to treat this like any other weekend spent at home--I'll try to combine laziness and productivity and Sunday night anxiety for a nostalgic, pre-plague like experience. I've started to refer to this plague as The Great Disruptor, but dammit, I didn't want to be disrupted. I liked my life and my existence and my routines and obligations, which gave my days satisfaction and structure. Nothing was perfect, sure, and perhaps all my life was simply a reflection of the trappings that come with late-stage capitalism, but you know what? I want that life back. It was mine, dammit. And now even Friday has lost all meaning.


Daily Indiana COVID-19 Counts:
Total Cases: 3,437 (up from yesterday's 3,039)
102 people have died.


Daily Gratitude: 

It's spring, y'all.

Daily Funnies: 

Plague Diaries, Issue 18: March 30, 2020

Here's another thing about me, folks. A lot of the time, I don't feel like I am, by nature, an optimistic or positive person. My default thoughts are often cross and snarky and uncharitable, and when I try to give someone the benefit of the doubt, it's because I try, not because it happens by nature. I have dysthymia and anxiety, and each day, it's an immense effort, to say nothing of an act of courage, to try to be hopeful and optimistic.  (I also acknowledge that the more privilege one has--be it through their wealth, sex, skin color, education, physical appearance, similar support networks--the easier it is to maintain that optimism. It's easier to be cheerful and hopeful when your larder is stocked, your health insurance is paid up, and you have a network of family and friends to fall back upon.)

Tonight, I don't have that optimism. And I don't have the energy for that optimism.

It's funny--in general, it was a good day. I got my physical exercise done as soon as I rolled out of bed; I was quietly attentive in a work meeting; I stuck with my meal plan; I got chores done; I tended to Professor Susan. But on my way home from the Prof's, tonight, I

Just

Got

Sad.

Given that I am safe and healthy and financially sound, at present, I don't know that I am sad for myself. Maybe it's more of a sympathetic sadness, directed towards others. And guilt. And anger. So many people are stressed and scared and anxious. We're all isolated. Many of us are sick, or mourning those who have died, or are anxiously awaiting news about loved ones. Our lives are in limbo, waiting not just for this plague to pass, but also to see what the longer-term political and economic consequences will be. I think that there's starting to build within me an anger, for it's becoming more and more clear how so much of what we are going through could have been mitigated had our country and leaders been more competent and honest and proactive.

So, here we are. Here I am. After I got back from the Prof's this evening, I just sat in my home for a long time. Sat with these emotions, and these thoughts, until I felt able to get up, move around, and not be quite so pinioned by their unrelenting weight. And maybe, in putting those thoughts and feelings on here blaurgh, I can let them sit until I am ready to come contemplate them again.

I read on the Harvard Business Review recently, That Discomfort That You're Feeling is Grief. If that's the case, well then, there are some stages of this grief that we all have to work through. And I will tell myself what I have told many hurting people before: It's hard to know what's normal and healthy when you're grieving a loss. Let yourself feel how you need to feel. Try to find healthy ways to cope, but be gentle. And really, right now, there's no real normal ways to feel, anyway.

Tonight, I am sad. Tomorrow morning, I hope I will rise and turn my face to the sun and feel restored enough by sleep to once more resurrect the courage I need to be of good cheer in the days to come.

Before I switch over to the usual things I end these posts with, I'll leave you with this:

"Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness."
-Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

Daily Indiana COVID-19 Count: 

1786 (up from yesterday's 1514)
35 people have died.

Daily Gratitude: 

This fool, Indiana Jasonville Bruecks. 

Daily Funnies

Plague Diaries, Issue 13: March 25, 2020

Just another day of screaming into the void. 

Tonight, I'm not totally okay. In fact, I'm rather not okay. I've been fairly good with self-isolating and keeping myself away from most people and washing my hands and sanitizing my surroundings; up until this point, it was so I wouldn't go spreading plague to others, and wouldn't put Professor Susan at risk. But I've encountered so many articles about 20- and 30-somethings falling ill and dying, and at one point in the early evening, I felt the slightest tickle in my throat. And after that--game over. I've been an anxiety bunny all evening. What if I get sick? I don't want to die. Who will take care of the cats if I get sick? Will I have to die alone? 

Usually, I try to keep a relatively positive tone in these plague diaries, but tonight, I just don't have it in me. I'm sorry. Tomorrow I will try to go back to whistling in the dark, but not right now.  Plus, Prince Charles has COVID-19--what the actual fuck? When coronavirus comes after the royal family, you know it means business. 

COVID-19 cases in Indiana increased from 365 (yesterday) to 477. 

I'm tired and a little scared, so I don't have the energy to go digging through teh Interwebs for amusing, thematically-appropriate stuff. But I will leave this here, as a reminder to me and to anyone else who might need this right now: