Tuesday, April 21, 2020

real dealz

This is a hard week. 
Finishing up week 6 of social distancing/social isolation (aside from work and essential shopping trips) 
I know, every week I've said "this is a hard week". Well, they get harder apparently.  

I'm guessing 4 more weeks. If not 5 before the state of emergency is called off. 

I'm mostly hanging out in my room so I don't take offence to anything anyone says, and so I don't say anything that might offend someone else. 
Because it's far too easy for both to happen, and it's not intentional. 

Monday, April 20, 2020

pandemic confessionals

We'll call this "part 1"
A furtherance to "Thursday confessionals", which I've mostly been on a break from the last year or so. Not because I'm not doing stupid shit, it's because I don't remember to write them down and I forget them too quickly. 

Pandemic confessional,  I checked everywhere (in the mirror) before I left the house, but all I could smell was peanut butter.  
It was on my sunglasses.
‐-
Pandemic confessional, well at least my FOMO is gone.
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The new book I'm writing:

Granny pants, tights, sweatshirts and bra-less; how a pandemic gave women back comfortable clothing.

Byline: that's probably mustard.
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Pandemic confessional,  links closely with yesterday's post about pandemic styles: tights are not pants. Yesterday I forgot to put a skirt on over pandemic tights before going to town for supplies. "Thankfully" it was snowing so I had my long winter coat on over them.
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Alternating wildly between "people are the worst" and "people are the best". You, my friends, are the latter. 
(Most of you)
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Swinging wildly between "I will stay away from all social media for my mental health" and "I haven't refreshed my apps in the last 20seconds... what am I missing???"   

*shakes fist at virus*
--

Sunday, April 19, 2020

the little camo trailer.

I've been thinking about trailer life a lot the last few weeks. 

There's a high possibility that I could be moving out there again. For sanity's sake. For space, for ... Yeah. No, really that's the only reason. Space. 
Physical and emotional. 

This is a tiny apartment.

But for sanity's sake... I don't know if I can take it. Last fall when i moved out, I was ready to burn the fucker down as i closed the door behind me. It's a tough way to live, and kudos to those who choose to do it long term. 
No running water, no electricity, no fridge, no real cooking space, no actual sitting space. Running out of data on the first week of my cycle. Random areas of the trailer with no reception. No shower. Lugging jugs of water for drinking and cleaning. Everything damp all the time, bugs. Dear sweet baby jesus... the spiders and ants. FLYING ANTS IN MY BED. Spiders running across my face as I fall asleep. The mice. 
The chewing mice. 
The pooping and peeing mice. 
The dog fur.
The bed, slightly off kilter... the entire trailer tilted. My band, "heavy cheese poops and the blue splashback" aka "justin" aka the "just in time porta potty".

There are some great parts to it too. I don't need to be quiet getting up in the morning in the trailer. Once I got lights in the trailer I was able to read late at night, and I could have all the lights on when I woke up (again.. this is a very tiny apartment). Not worrying about what sort of mood everyone is in. The garden just a few feet away. I am so much more active when I live on our land, with no real difference between indoor and out, I'm always puttering doing something. All the fresh air. Tromping around with the dog. Up early. Falling asleep tired. Sleeping on my own bed (mattress)... sleeping in anything other than the twin bunk beds that I currently fight. The quiet. The fireflies. The butterflies. The rhythm of the land around me. 

I don't know. 
Do the pros outweigh the cons?
I don't have an answer. 

But I don't want to live in the fucking trailer. I want to live in my house. Insert temper tantrum here. 

I remember how excited I was was I got the trailer from Mikey. The first year and a half with all his shit still in the bathroom/storage area. That first cleaning out of the trailer... oh man. It was so gross. Heck, the adventure trying to drag that thing to our property! Stopping partway home because the awning bars had fallen off the side of the trailer. Gunning it in hope that it would make it up the hill on 23. 

(I'm not looking for comfort or words of encouragement,  I'm writing for me, and for a record.)

Thursday, April 16, 2020

welcome back

The fuzz butt is back. 
Sweet (and slightly deranged) Rueben Henry, my buddy for the last 7 years. He's been living at a doggie daycare type place since December. For a smallish dog, he's A Lot Of Dog... the apartment I'm cohousing in with my friends is not set up well for having A Lot Of Dog. They are gracious. The amazing woman who has had Rue off and on the last 3 years (Kat) is also gracious.  

We aren't ready to move into our house yet (more on this another time) and I'm not prepared to move into the trailer yet (more on this also at another time). But I was willing to chance bringing him back to the apartment. 

This pandemic has the world upside down. I'm one of the "lucky ones" with an essential service position. I still have a pay cheque and regular hours. Luckier still, we didn't finish the house when we thought we would. If it was complete, I'd have left my essential service job for a home business. Lucky because work affords me connection with humans. Also lucky, I have housemates and I'm not alone in my home. 

But this last week, pandemic life has been hitting me hard. I've had a few bouts of tears in grief and frustration, for sure, but last week was borderline panic attacks.  The lack of touch has been eating my soul, and this last week I just hit the wall. Repeatedly.  
I'd say touch is one of my top love languages.  My last hug was March 12th. My last touch on the arm was March 12th. My last arm over a shoulder was March 12th. Cue tears, shortness of breath and a squeezing feeling in my heart.... because when the hell is this going to end? We don't know. 

Someone said to me the other day "what if after this, people don't touch any more?" I was thankful it was a text conversation,  I just sat there weeping. 

That's when I decided,  Ruerue is home. He might be hiding from me a little... some social distancing... because I keep picking him up and squeezing him while making happy squealing noises. But at least now there's touch. And while I still tear up thinking about not touching, not being touched, at least I can breathe. 

Wednesday, April 15, 2020

people in your neighbourhood

Two days ago I was driving home and thought to myself "ha! I've made it nearly two years without getting into the newspaper!"  An accomplishment,  sort of, for a community building type person, but also a giant check valve for me... I've been so wrapped up in building a house, I'm not participating in community, let alone building it. 

Today I received interview questions by email. Which made me laugh. 
Now, they aren't for the paper.. do we even have a paper anymore? But they are for a journalism project for someone that I know. 

G: Can you tell me about a person that is important to you in your life and why?

Me: My dear friend Amanda. I am blessed to have a tremendous circle of friends, but she showed up at just the right time in my life and in just the right ways.
 My mom passed away maybe 10 months before I met Manda, (the details are hazy) maybe it was a year? My long time friends just didn't know what to do with me and my seemingly unending grief. Manda sort of swooped in and let me grieve while we went on random adventures.  She gave me space to experience joy even while my heart was bleeding all over. 


G: What is a fond memory that sicks in your mind, and why?  

Me: Late summer for years, a small group of some of my favourite people gathered for a weekend of canning in the backyard.  It's exhausting work, it's hot and tiresome. We would make playlists and share them, stories were told, there were dance breaks, poems, a campfire, and more than a few tears. Someone would show up with food. At the end of it we would each walk away with boxes filled with jars of salsa and ketchup, tomato sauce, and chili sauce.

Tuesday, April 14, 2020

from outerspace

It's the middle (beginning? End?) Of pandemic times. 
I'm feeling it all. 
Every emotion at the same time, and I think everyone is... but I want to scream and pout and all that just the same. 

I'm one of the "lucky" ones. I'm still an essential service. But every day is fucking scary. Today I set up a "donning and doffing station" for personal protective equipment (which for some reason my boss keeps locked in her office) for when the people I support get sick. It will eventually happen. I can't control everyone. 

I've really been doing ok. Overall. I mean, it's been such a long time since I wrote anything down,  I'm not sure where to start. 

This week has been hard. Waves of grief and longing. 

My last physical touch... human contact, a hug, was March 12th. 34 days ago.  That should be fine. But with the prospect of this dragging on for another couple of months, I just start blinking the tears every hour or so. Fine one second, soggy sleeves the next. 

I have housemates. I'm lucky in that I have a bit of interaction. 3 years into cohousing/cobuilding stress.
We're all dealing the best we can, and that means dealing.... the best we can. (No blame, I imagine I must be frustrating) 

I don't have a point. I don't have a fun twist to wrap this up with. 

I'm sad. I'm lonely. I'm tired. 
I hate people and I miss people.