I continue to survive. I say this because I had a bit of a break down on Friday.
Leaving aside the bit where my nephew died and his wife had to sort out funeral arrangements and manage things on her own, absent the part where I went to Andy’s funeral in shorts and a t-shirt, and the funeral home used facebook live which was a nightmare for everyone over the age of 60 to use, they muted all the music to avoid takedowns, and then it cut out after exactly an hour after it started – which was right in the middle of someone’s eulogy. . . .
Leaving aside the fact that I largely live alone and the people I love – especially the nieces and nephews are spread across this wide world and I worry that everyone I love is going to die. Alone. Which is what I am mostly. I thrive on connection and touch and however hard I try, online meetings don’t do it.
Leaving aside existential angst about the economy in general, what my particular provincial government is doing and what the madman in the White house is not doing to keep American’s safe.
Leaving aside the fact that exiting my house seems like entering a germ laden war space, and the fact that I must remember my mask and to sanitize my hands and I pull on doors clearly marked push, so how do you think following arrows in the grocery store is going for me?
Leaving aside all of that. . . .
Every Friday I finish the week still employed. Exhausted from somehow eking out enough work on various little bits of things to figure out how to charge 40 hours to something other than the “I have nothing to do” code. It’s not billable work, which would keep me safe as houses, but it’s something. I suppose. Every week I hit Friday a still employed management consultant.
And I sit and wonder whether that will be the case a week.
Some of it is surely that no one knows what is going on. Some of it is that my new boss is the sort of person who considers people to be widgets. I don’t think it would occur to him that this is hard. I’m trying to ignore the fact that it is equally likely he is aware that it’s hard and actually doesn’t care. Some of it depends on the fact that so much of my identity (dare I say it, too much?) of my identity is tied up in my job.
All of it is exhausting. I don’t know if I will have a job, which means I don’t know if I will have drug insurance, which means I don’t know if I will be able to pay for my drugs. That makes me worry about the ability to work, which is also a problem because I won’t have short term or long term disability if I’m unemployed.
Bit by bit, I get through. I call each week a victory. Tell myself that nothing can last forever. Nothing good and nothing bad. It is getting harder, I will allow.