For the first time in 5 years, I didn’t write a blog post.
Nothing occurred to me. And when Sunday night rolled around, and I had nothing in the queue, I just sort of shrugged and wrapped myself in a blanket.
No real accomplishments to speak of. Not many thoughts. I’ve just been going about my day, doing one task and then another. Not cooking anything interesting, not writing, not reading, no podcasts, not veering off the same neighborhood loop when I take Ziggy for a walk.
I’m not even dreaming.
I’m on autopilot: trying to line up work for myself, trying to help other people find work, people who seem as dazed and empty as me.
It’s not depression. It’s something else.
Yesterday, my daily drift took me into the backyard, where I power-washed our inflatable waterslide, then dried it by hand. It took 10 towels.
From there, I put the umbrellas away, swept the leaves, brought in the hammock, took down the silk and trapeze, tucked the bikes under the shed…
In a sense, removing fun and relaxation from all corners of our yard. Not the best feeling, but a requirement. It’s winter and there’s a storm coming.
How fucking appropriate.
A storm coming…
We certainly have something looming on the horizon.
Half of the country thinks it’s the end of democracy. The other half is glad they didn’t lose.
Both halves know we’re in for complete and total disruption. That’s what we’ve been promised. And whether we cry or cheer, that’s what’s going to happen – disruption. There’s already a blueprint. We’ve been shown the brochure.
The storm is coming.
A storm is coming, and we’re all just drifting around like kindergartners looking for our moms at the mall. Some of us expecting to find her, others well past hope but still moving about.
I’m wondering if I did enough.
Do I need to clean the gutters? Bring in the patio cushions? How strong will the winds be?
People speak of the calm before the storm, but it doesn’t feel calm at all.
There’s a rhythmic up-and-down motion of the sea that keeps me uneasy. There’s a low rumble in the earth.
I know for certain that If I look out to the horizon, I’ll see the waves, that if I lay my ear to the ground, I’ll hear the beginning of an earthquake.
But I don’t do these things. And I don’t talk about it.
I just put my broom away and go inside.