I'm Sinking

 

COVID 2.0

 I might be ready to talk about it a little bit. 

So - yes, I caught COVID a second time. 

My best guess at this point -- given the approximate incubation time, the beginning of my symptoms, and such -- is that I was infected at a particular doctor's appointment. I don't actually know, and there is no way of actually finding out; it's just my best guess. 

The worst part, is knowing that I was traveling and interacting with a wide variety of people during the incubation stage. Hello, I'm apparently Typhoid Mary and don't know it. The horror. And the moral quandary: what obligation did I have to notify people once I found out? How contagious was I? Ugh. The horror. 

I minimized what I could, and changed my travel plans to spend additional time ensconced in the hotel room, until I could (according to CDC rules) safely travel home, provided I was masked. I avoided people as much as humanly possible. It was all horrible. 

The course of COVID 2.0 was about half as bad as original COVID (which was good because original COVID was horrid). A few days of sore throat, a couple of days of runny nose, several days of low grade fever, several of fatigue, lingering cough. Unpleasant, but tolerable. And I tested negative about a week later. 

The worst part was the rage, because COVID interfered with several plans that must now be re-formed and re-done. And because I tried. I try so hard to keep from getting sick, and yet, there I was. 

The only silver lining, as far as I can tell, is that I will worry less about catching COVID again for a while. Oh, and I learned how to use Uber Eats, to have decent food safely delivered while in quarantine. 

Ugh. 

Stupid plague. 

Purse

Facebook Ads suggested a buttered-toast purse.

I would actually use this. Well done, Ads. 

I Don't Want To Talk About It

Pricey

Did you know that a single prescription (twelve pills), when not covered by insurance, costs $1,723.59? 

Now you do.

Let's see if the doctor can wrangle the insurance company. Or if I can. 

Oy.

Better Living

Better living through pharmaceuticals. We hope. 

Trying something new for the migraines, because we are slipping in migraine control again. Ugh. 

Cross your fingers. 

Polite

I have several upcoming meetings in the next couple of months. Events with a multitude of people, with accompanying Social Occasions, Mostly, I just have to turn up on time, look thoughtful, and take notes (all of which I can do).  What will be most concerning, I think -- other than the looming spectre of increased responsibility on my plate associated with tasks/outcomes for the meetings -- will be the PEOPLE-ING aspects. 

I have honed my Small Talk abilities fairly well (though they did become a tad rusty during the Pandemic). I can Exchange Pleasantries, and Ask Questions, and Chat. That's not the issue. 

The concern is: will anyone actually want to interact with me? 

What will happen when I'm in a roomful of people whom I don't really know well -- will any take the time to speak with me? Will the onus be entirely on me to initiate conversation? Will I end up alone in a corner with my drink, while cliques of people who already know one another smirk together and roll their eyeballs at me? 

I think about moments in my adult life when someone actually deliberately pulled up a chair to sit and converse with me, and those interactions have been so very rare that I can not only count them on one hand, but I can call each one to mind in detail and recollect my surprise and delight as well as my panicked need to remain casual, as if it was an ordinary occurrence and not a miracle. 

And I inevitably snowball, because I spend probably more time than the average human being, wondering what would happen if I stopped reaching out to the other people in my life: would they notice? Would they reach out to me? Would I... just not hear from them? Would I just be even more Solitary than I am now? 

-----

I'm embarrassed, frankly, by my level of worry about this. What I can see, though, is that it's all part and parcel of the Abandonment that follows me around. I've contemplated my Abandonment more of late, and the Truth is, I know why it is with me now. I don't want to talk about it in detail, because I do not want to implicate other people who are, after all, just doing the best they can in  their own lives -- and I need to take responsibility for my own reactions rather than to place blame where it may not belong. Suffice it to say: there are a multitude of reasons for Abandonment to take hold in one's life, and those reasons are borne of circumstance and of temperament, fed (often inadvertently) by habits and characteristics of the surrounding people as well as by one's own choices and decisions. All I can do now, is to acknowledge its existence, and then walk with it until it stops whispering in my ear. 

Ultimately, does it matter if I am not part of of the Collective? Why do I want that so badly? Why do I want the love, admiration, appreciation of other people?  What if I am always an Other, an Outsider? I'm still me, regardless of what other people think (or don't think at all) about me. 

And I'm OK. So that will have to be good enough. 

May Be Present

Not For You

I recently had to provide a photo of myself for a volunteer directory. The Horror. We all know how I feel about photos of myself.

I know what I look like. I'm middle aged and middle of the road on a good day, if I've made an effort. I do not meet conventional attractiveness standards by any stretch of the imagination. I'm chunky, prone to looking like a somewhat manic chipmunk, lacking in luxurious hair/fingernails/eyelashes or any of the standard hallmarks of feminine beauty. I don't turn heads. I'm invisible at this age and appearance. And I've mostly come to terms with this. 

I keep myself tidy and make an effort to be presentable, but otherwise I don't think about my appearance much, and I carefully avoid mirrors to avoid too many reminders of my shortcomings.  Yet occasionally I must participate in a group photo or (grimace) a solo photo, and there is everything I lack, all fixed in a picture, for all time, for everyone to see. Ugh. 

As I took approximately 800,000 selfies to try to find one that I didn't openly dislike, I came to a realization, though: 

the pictures aren't for me.

They're for people who will need to identify me -- to put a face to a name in a crowd. Do they need to speak with the person in charge of X or Y? Oh, there she is, her face was in the directory under X or Y. 

And the same goes for other photos that I happen to be in -- such as the pictures from the recent reunions. They're not (just) for me, they're for the other people there. Oh, I remember the people who were there with me, I had such a good time talking with that person, or I need to get the information about that thing from that other person. 

So I need to remind myself, when I am subjected to a photo-taking exercise: when we see pictures of our friends/relatives/people we know, we don't criticize the pictures. Rather, we think, Oh, there's that person I know. I hope they're doing well. They look happy. Or there's that person, I would like to talk with them. Or That looks really interesting/fun, what they're doing. Or I sure would like to get together with them again soon. And what a great experience, that we all had together. I'm sure glad we could capture that one moment together on film, to remind me of it later. 

Pictures are for other people. 

Contemplating the Weather

Are those... rainclouds? Let us hope. 

The Ick

 I've been trying various movies and television shows for entertainment while using the treadmill. It's all a little hit or miss -- some things are worth watching all the way through, and some things do not capture my interest for long. I feel a bit as though I have the attention span of a gnat these days, which does not help in the choosing of shows. I keep searching. 

I watched Extraction 2.  (Action movies are generally safe - no unrequited love subplots, which I generally avoid; generally a satisfactory resolution by the end; nothing too political or serious.) It was well done, I think -- a little gory for my tastes, but otherwise paced well, with solid action sequences. 

By the time it was over, though, I realized that I need to add another type of movie to the genres I avoid: I will not be watching movies that have as a subplot, some kind of "rescue". There are a lot of them out there, as it's a common theme -- the daughter/wife/female relative of the male protagonist (or of someone important to the protagonist) is kidnapped/missing/lost, and the protagonist must go save/rescue her as part of his overall inherently 'rescue-y' persona (or, in more complex movies, as part of his emotional redemptive arc). 

No thank you. This gives me The Ick. 

I think that at this stage in my life, I am All Done with certain Fairy Tales, and the Knight In Shining Armor Fairy Tale is one of them. That just doesn't happen anywhere except in stories. This is not to negate or detract from the actual existence of Very Good Men -- I know several of them in Real Life. Good Men, Solid Men, Hardworking Men. They are real people, though, and not mythical knights.  

The reality is that we need to be our own Knights. 

We must learn to save ourselves.

Be Well

I'd been looking forward to the Orville Peck concert next month, but it is not to be: he's cancelled his tour. 

I'm disappointed, no doubt. Getting those tickets was one of the few things I've done specifically for myself in the past few months -- a reward, of sorts, for having powered through the worst parts of the initial loss of my lovely father (I ordered the tickets the day they went on sale, which was the day before Daddy's memorial service itself). I even purchased a new dress to wear for the occasion. Alas. 

My feelings are unimportant right now, though: it's much more important that Orville Peck take the time he needs to take care of himself. 

It must be exhausting to be in the public eye all the time. Performing and traveling. The expectations of the public and the fans; the need to be constantly "on"; the press, the tabloids, everything. The wear and tear is no doubt tremendous. Kudos to him for recognizing that it was time to pause and breathe. As I struggle with my own quiet and invisible, personal version of burnout, I feel tremendous empathy for him. 

Be well, Orville. I hope that someday, when you feel ready to go back onstage, I'll get to see you perform again. 

Daylight

 Today's earworm: Daylight, by Watchhouse. 

Quiet, simple. Soothing.

I hope you enjoy.

Better

 The temptation to self-isolate when feeling out-of-sorts is Very Strong Indeed.  To want to turn away from the People who would otherwise bring comfort, to somehow reject in advance the solace that might be found -- why? Is it some kind of preemptive strike, to abandon oneself first before someone else abandons one in a time of need? Is it a self-preservation mechanism, like a wild animal who hides its wounds lest it appear vulnerable? Or is it just simply people-fatigue: the knowledge that interacting with others may be too exhausting at the moment? 

Against my feelings of better judgement, I chose to follow through with a Zoom call this evening, even though I was very much out-of-sorts for Reasons both varied and mostly mundane. Mercifully, however, it was the right thing to do -- because my Zoom companion was one of my favorite People; someone whose company is always soothing, whose conversation is thought-provoking and interesting, whose presence I miss if it has been too long since we have spoken. And I enjoyed the Zoom call, and felt better afterward. I'm so grateful for that Zoom time, and for my Friend. 

Sometimes, we have to put faith in one of our People, and leave the door open to the possibility that they will be there for us and will be good for us, even when we are struggling. I would do well to remember that. 

In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. ― Albert Schweitzer

Guardian

Since we are currently a dog-free household, one of the kitties guards the door. Good Girl. 

Bouquet