That was a longer than anticipated hiatus, but time in the pandemic era is a curious thing.
Measuring by the closure of the Kid’s school, the lockdown began on my birthday and has inexorably crawled forward to engulf Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, the Kid’s birthday, the Fourth of July, and — most recently — a family wake and funeral (non-COVID related).
At the same time, my brain keeps waiting for “summer” to begin, using metrics hardwired into me by thirty years of attending and working at a university. We’re a stone’s throw from the beginning of August yet I am still psychically prepping for the end of May.
I live a life of routines now. I wake up, get something to eat while catching up with current apocalyptic events, then feed the animals. Then I goof off to do some minor chores before waking Maura up so she can start her daily tasks.
The late morning through afternoon are spent working from home, clearing my queues of daily tasks and staying on call for urgent action items. Then there’s lunch with the family, followed by some videogames, reading, or — most likely — a fitful nap on the sofa.
Sometimes I will get called in to assist in some bigger household project of Maura’s before dinner, which is spent in the living room watching Community on Netflix with the family. Maura and the Kid then go upstairs to do their own things, while I crash out on the sofa while streaming some badly transferred 1970s TV movie or sci-fi show via YouTube.
I regain consciousness around three in the morning, drag myself up to bed, and nod off for a couple of hours before starting the whole process over again.
This — or something close to it — would normally be my idea of a “best life.” Untethered from the world at large — the world that WAS — though, it becomes difficult to do more than simply “be.” All the grand projects (or small ones such as regularly updating this site) I’d planned to do “when I had the time” fell by the wayside once time was something I had too much of.
The above sounds a lot grimmer than I wanted it to. The fact I made the effort to write this is a positive sign. And the past four months haven’t been entirely wasted. It has allowed me to top off my idea tank to levels unseen since AT first became a thing. The “what the fuck do I have left write about” burn-out I’d been feeling is gone, replaced by anxiety over what topic I want to tackle next.
Hopefully it wont take almost three months to get there.