All around me. All around my insides as well as my outsides.
I am used to being able to have some control over my life of 80 yeas. I get it that Covid 19 is in the driver’s seat right now. One of my “talents” has always been that I am able to find some pieces of myself to hang onto even in the midst of various forms of chaos; but I can’t seem to find any of those pieces.
As grateful as I am for the support and protection of my family, that all comes at a cost. And the cost is my sense of self at a time when very little is making sense at all. My reality has succumbed to the total chaos that rages all around me.
I am bummed that I don’t seem to be able to handle any of it. Mindfulness? Meditation? Forget it. Chaos rules my mind. I just want to sleep until I can wake to a better reality. And so I sleep. A lot.
I used to be able to gird my loins and launch myself into some creative craft project that would, at least, surround me with a brain buffer. I used to be able to take that chaos and re-purpose it into pretty decent poetry.
Is it so terribly hard now because I am old? Because I have used up my finite resources? I feel totally depleted. I don’t know who I am or why I am.
My late-diagnosed adult autistic son writes about trying to understand who he is in the context of his undiagnosed, fragmented journey.
My late once-husband, who tended to be single-minded, once told me that he wonders what is at my “core”; he saw me like an onion. The layers get pealed back and there’s nothing at the core. And this is how I saw him.
You stand firm and fundamental
in your solitary nesting place
apart from your leafing, budding sill-mates.
You remind me of someone I know
So, I am an onion. Each layer is a period of my life that I created and lived and survived. My layers are what I am. Does that mean I have nothing at the core? Nothing solid, impermeable? Does it matter?
Maybe it does, if I find myself adrift in a chaos that is being absorbed by whatever is left of who I am. Do I even have another layer in me, or is that all there is?
It’s not you, it’s the crazy pandemic. I’m sure of it! As they say, it will all be over eventually.
I keep telling myself that, but I’m not sure what shape I’ll be in when it’s finally over!
I’m just angry. Angry at the incompetence. Angry at the lack of compassion. And angry at the fact that every day I spend in isolation is a day I will never get back. It all sucks.
How are you managing to deal with it all? I try not to watch the news too much, but it’s like watching a train wreck.
You? An onion? The “journey” to the center of an onion is filled with tears and blurred vision. That hasn’t been your life’s voyage, has it? It certainly didn’t look like that from the outside. Now, you being a shapeshifter is something I can accept. Remember our vacation to the “sunny isle” of Chappaquiddick? You slept a lot then, too. Sometimes it’s called for. For the present enjoy the fact that you CAN sleep, and embrace it. Better to be rested for your next “shape” then to be too tired to recognize it. I have never known too much sleep to be without a purpose.
Many layers to go
I walk around the development, and do the warmups for the NYC Ballet Volume 2.
Other than that, I have put together a book of poems and sent them out (don’t know
if anyone is out there to get it, or to comment, of course), drew a pastel portrait of my late doggie, Nutmeg, and have been reading stuff I really don’t like, and watching videos I’ve seen before. I am losing my mind along with you, however! (I look at the local paper, occasionally write letters to the editor, scan the NY Times, bur have to give up….)