This has been the longest 20 years ever since March ‘til now. Somehow, as the years drag on, we have to find something laughable, not hysteria, mind you. Let me tell you a few things that burn my butt, out of the millions of things every minute of every day, that I try to find funny, but isn’t, but I try.
I love to cook. Let me rephrase that: I used to love to cook. I am always OUT of something, but still have 10,00 bottles of spices that have names I never heard of. I am pretty sure I never bought them. Ok, not sure of anything so probably I did. I have more pots and pans in the sink than I own. Somebody is bringing me their dirty dishes, pretty sure. Then, I find an exciting looking recipe all pretty in the magazine and find out it uses baking pots I have never seen let alone thought of are needed. Then it calls for a certain kind of ghee, or some exotic flour, or some kind of oil that God does not even know about. And, then, if it just happens, I do have, then I do not have the simple things, like eggs, or milk. Life is just getting hard.
I have never been a drinker, but suddenly I am craving alcohol like the drunk behind the seven-11 store. Either that or someone needs to discover a happy pill that is also a cure to covid. They have pills for one thing that works for another all the time. Why can’t this happen? Booze in the house is some cider that has been here since 1904, a can of something light that tastes like Eno and I do not need to burp, I need to survive. On another note: My mood swings are happening about every five minutes. Be careful what you wish for.
And clothes. Why do we need clothes? All I need is daytime jammies and nighttime jammies. And, I am wearing them for days on end. So there! And, as for wearing a mask: I find I am way braver about telling off bothersome customers in WalMart. It is quite empowering.
When you all retire and if you have a partner, there are enough things to say about being together for 24/7. But, with covid, it adds another whole layer of joy joy happy happy. Suddenly I am more of his ‘entertainment’ in that he will come looking all through the house for me and I hear h coming with the slap slap slap of his slippers. Just a little thing and I should be grateful he wants to be around me every minute, but, ok, it is annoying. And, I bring in groceries and he goes through every one, because I buy interesting things. But, it feels intrusive; the kitchen is my domain, after all. And, I will be in the middle of baking something and in he comes and it is either ‘help me’ or get out of the way’…lovingly, of course. And then there is my relationship with our two dogs: Esqueese, who is 15 and sometimes thinks the dark hallway is her outside spot. And, then there is Baby who still thinks in Mexican and cha cha chas around the house trying to get rid of some of her extra energy because ‘you know who’ (me) is too lazy to take her for a walk. She hogs my bedspace by crawling up into the curve of my knees and then stretches out so she is shoving me off and besides, she is a ‘cover stealer’. Lord, they all want me around every minute. They need their eyes on me. Once upon a lifetime, I wanted to be wanted, but this is stalking, pretty sure!
Suddenly, we are in major lockdown and I want to travel. Suddenly I am a houseplant with complicated emotions. Suddenly, excuse the use of a new word I just learned, FOMO is happening and I am using that word like I was yelling a swear word. “What the FOMO? (FOMO is a new slang for exciting anxiety over some post or some conspiracy theory someone posts on social media). FOMO is a wonderful word these days. I am at the point where some days I have one, next minute I don’t have one, and suddenly I don’t give.
I took a closer look at my housecleaning abilities and past sins and found things wanting… me not wanting to do them. But, the dark ring around doorknobs, the shadows around light switches that should not be there, the corner between where vacuum reaches and where I bothered has build up even mice would not appreciate. We don’t have mice. But B.C. has rats. The connotations cover most things around here. ‘nough said. I I will just go put Hoarders on on Neflix. That’ll cure me of any guilt or shame instead of doing all this work.
We are Queens of our domains and suddenly we can start to feel like a Queen locked in a castle high up on highest mountain and we just might be living with the beast, or beasts and the music is Jaws not Beauty and the Beast. We might be a bit more wacky than ever, but at least we can find something for a crown (mask worn on top of my head works great). We can walk around with our mask on and feel like a pirate, yes yes we can. We can go through big box stores and act like a ninja, no one will ever know who we are. Go, sisters of the covid realms, be wackier!
***Challenge Nov 3 – NexJENeration
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