My mind couldn’t keep the days straight this week. Halfway through first period on Monday, I thought it was Tuesday. On Tuesday, I thought it was Monday. Wednesday felt like Friday, and Friday morning felt like the start of Wednesday. Some weeks are just like that, I guess. They simply exist and you simply exist along with them. They’re not bad or good. They just are.
Sunday
And I think my pictures mostly reflect that— a passive existence. I watched the world move around me. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. I just felt still. Paused. Like an abandoned birdhouse waiting for the return of spring, sure that it will come but unsure exactly when.
Monday
I fed the stray cats and the birds and the squirrels. And I enjoyed their visits. I taught my classes. I attended my writerly meetings. But it felt a little like I was stuck back in Dr. Seuss’s Waiting Place. Or worse— like everyone and everything was stuck there.
It didn’t help that I had a recurrence of symptoms on Monday that completely caught me off guard. It wasn’t a dizziness, really— more of a wobbliness. And a spike in the numbness and tingling in my hands and feet. I called my neurologist, but it always takes days to hear back and by the end of the week I was feeling better. The body fog started to lift and I was back to working out in the spare room after school.
Tuesday
Perhaps because of the lingering body fog or perhaps just because it was one of those weeks, it felt like I wasn’t fully present for the individual days, but quite a lot actually happened when I think back on it. The ELA department had to fight battles with admin, I was introduced to another writerly friend, and got drunk off one good glass of wine when I tuned into a happy hour hosted by a coworker…
It was more of a venting session than a happy hour, but few things pair as well with a semi-fine wine than a bitch-fest. It put smiles on all our faces and left me in a happy befuddlement.
Wednesday
And like usual, I jumped on my writing zooms each day. People seem to think I must be lonely here, all by myself, but they don’t realize the extent of my writing community. Although fatigue kept me from joining the Black Cat Crew (which we might be renaming: Kurt and the Hot Pockets) on Wednesday morning, I was with them from 6:00 AM to 7:00 AM every other morning like I have been since November. I met a new writerly friend through Kath on Monday evening, joined the Hamilton women writers group for a nice discussion on Tuesday evening, and participated in the CNY critique group on Wednesday.
And anyway, I kind of like my own company. I’m a real peach. I crack myself up, make myself some damn good coffee, and I don’t judge myself too harshly when I binge watch Netflix.
I am alone here, but I am not lonely.
Thursday
I do miss my cat, of course. He was super soft and warm and always by my side. But missing him doesn’t leave me lonely. It leaves me thankful that I had him in the first place. We understood each other. And he helped transition me to living on my own. I don’t think I’d have been able to handle a house devoid of other people so readily if he hadn’t been with me during that change.
Friday
But now I find that I play piano more frequently. And I busted Griz back out and sang (poorly) some songs while my fingers fumbled through the chords and picking patterns. I eat healthier. I meditate. I write and write and write…
Saturday
And I buy myself presents! Thanks Books of Wonder, for making my package feel so special. After I opened the box and pulled back the protective bubble sheet, I’d found that they’d taken the time to wrap the book like one would a gift. Such a small thing, but it put such a big smile on my face. Especially since I knew I was opening a new David Levithan world.
I’ve been in a little reading funk lately, but I know no better remedy for that than a new David Levithan book. His words are good company.