Hey, how have you been? I mean, besides “managing.”
If I was the writer I thought I was in March I would have started a journal or, at least, written some short and quippy relatable observations as we slogged through the pandemic.
I should have talked about the baking I took up and the massive amount of yeast I’m still going through.
I could have documented a trip to the grocery store in March then compared it to one now with a sidebar on how I used to enjoy shopping and now abhor it.
I should have talked about how it first felt like a snow day until the numbers started rising, moods started flaring, and sides of Mask/No Mask were taken.
I could have done several hundred words, some in bold text, on how maddening it is to see some people conducting life as usual, during a very unusual time.
The nesting every person in my house did had to have been duplicated elsewhere.
I could have shared that our path of emotions and the tip-toeing around button pushing topics within our family was perfectly normal.
Oh! Procrastination! How it’s been amped up since March and how the ability to focus on one particular thing has become weakened. I could totally bullet point a post about that.
How about a piece on outside time and how precious it’s become?
I could have written reams about the treatment of our elders in this country and what isolation has done to them.
The story of how I broke my solid brand loyalty and traded my beloved Galaxy for an iPhone just so I could FaceTime people I missed very much.
But I didn’t. I think firing this site back up is a good sign that maybe my brain is reactivating itself; that I’m rediscovering the joy of writing (not so much re-writing, but that does bring a certain thrill, too, I suppose.) How seeing words on a page makes me feel visible in a time when I’m feeling quite the opposite.