I'm Not Gonna Lie ...

 I’ve stopped blogging because I’m depressed. I‘ve stopped believing that sometime within the next six months covid will be over.

I’ve cherished the hope that the election, with a Biden win, would lift the dark cloud hanging over our country—the cloud that spurned covid, and violence, and chaos, and contempt. But suddenly I realized that, even with Trump out, we will be facing months or years under the threat of a deadly virus.

Worse. I can’t get Max out of his room. He’s tethered to a bank of devices. He takes no initiative to look for a job or sign up for college classes or cook something or … anything except talk to and get together with friends. It drives me crazy. I have to goad and prod and schedule to make anything happen, and for the first time in his life, I resent this role. I’m disappointed in him. I’m afraid for him. I’m angry, I’m conflicted –should I pull back entirely, force him to act or stagnate on his own? Should I create some structure for both of us? Should I just have him check in with me once a week? No shoulds, I guess. What’s working, what’s not?

I can’t do it anymore—there’s just nothing left inside--and F. is just as baffled and confused as I am. I need help and support and relief for myself. I have set up a medication adjustment for Max, I’ve inquired about a vocational counselor for him. I’d like to sign up a driving instructor. Maybe, even, get him a life coach.

But I’m overwhelmed and scared. I’m furious at Trump and those who didn’t take the virus seriously in the beginning--and have put us all in danger, as the virus surges out of control.

I’m just tired. So terribly tired.

Grieving What Was: Then and Now

 I grew up on the outer fringe of a new suburb, our freshly-built ranch house abutting a gnarled apple orchard, a meadow of goldenrod and milkweed and Queen Anne’s Lace, a ravine that plunged down to a creek. As kids, we travelled in small groups: myself, Sheree, Renee, Timmy, and Mary Ellen. Sometimes we’d venture into the world beyond our neighborhood and walk down to the one-lane road that ran along the Schuylkill River.

About a mile down, we’d find what we were looking for—a concrete structure rooted just next to the river. Its massive columns rose to a highway, which began its launch across the river—and abruptly stopped, midair. I remember it fascinated me, this strange fragment of a former time, this monument of a daring hope left unfulfilled. We named it the Bridge to Nowhere.

My Family, My Politics

There’s a way to talk to people who like Trump without hating each other. By "people" I mean my own family-of-origin. Noelle and her husband and I had a carefully-worded discussion over the phone. They of course, take the opposite side in the Trump/Biden debate. There were a few tense moments.

Things I'm Learning During Covid

Some things I’m learning during Covid:

1. How to be … nothing. Just myself. No occupational titles, no self-improvement projects, no social status, no special artsiness, no nothing. How to enjoy just being alive, spending time with the people I love in the simplest of ways.

2. It’s okay to watch three hours of The Money Heist every night. F. and I kick back. We laugh at some of the more ludicrous plot lines. We already know: no hostages are getting out of there alive.

3. Drugs are underrated. My brain needs anti-depressants. There are times when nothing else will work. This is one of them. I was weeping all the time and couldn’t pull out of it. Thank God for citalopram and buspar and methylphenidate and Strattera, for mood alterers of every [legal!] kind.

4. Suddenly, I’m letting more people in. A long-time friend of F. emailed me to trade book recommendations and I responded at length. I talked to Raelle’s husband first when I called her on the phone. A couple just a few doors away had us over for the first time and might become our camping and biking buddies. With none of my regular distractions at hand, I seem to be delving deeper, allowing new people to take their places in my heart