This subject line. I cannot.
I’m sure whoever created this email to be sent to thousands of people did not have sinister intent, but when this subject line popped up on my phone, I had a brief panic attack. When I realized it was simply another political email in my inbox, I wanted to grab the sender by the short & curlies and twist violently. Best I could do, unfortunately, was click the unsubscribe button.
I’ve been helping Elise with her job related paperwork for her ski instructing position. We’re in the process of having an insurance claim check endorsed by two banks. And we’ve been muddling through the college admissions process with Jerod. Applying. Working on the FAFSA. Helping him dot his i’s and cross the t’s.
So, the possibility that we’d dropped the ball somewhere and missed a signature was plenty good. Of course, my moment of panic was short lived. The world will most definitely keep spinning madly on if I do not sign Joe’s birthday card. And I wish him all the best, but I do not need to sign any damn birthday card for him. And I do not need a subject line saying ‘Signature missing’ in my email to make me feel inadequate, like I’ve fucked something up. So take your signature missing reprimand and kindly stick it. Is it possible I’m a li’l oversensitive these days? Why yes it is, thanks for asking.
It’s been another challenging week. Our governor enacted (or perhaps I should say reenacted) restrictions more like what we dealt with last spring. It’s hard, because restrictions are jarring. But I think the real challenge for most folks with at least those with one or two fibers of compassion within their being is the amount of concern we’re feeling for the front line workers. All front line workers, but for me personally, it’s the photos of health care workers I’m seeing on social media, fully decked out in PPE and begging us to stay home because they are wondering how they can possibly keep putting one foot in front of the other when they are so completely and utterly taxed; those are the ones that rattle me the most. A close second being our educators and administrators who are carrying the weight of their own mental well-being, that of all of their students, and for most of them, that of their own children. To say nothing of meeting the academic standards they’ve been tasked with.
It has dawned on me this week how completely inexperienced I am at dealing with uncertainty. After eight months of this altered lifestyle we’ve adopted, I still feel like I know nothing of the trajectory of this pandemic in the US. And, while we’ve survived the election, I feel like I know nothing of what’s actually going to happen on January 20th. What I really want is a national strategy, with implications for those who don’t get onboard, and for someone to give me an end date. Even if it’s January 2024 (God, please, no), I want to know when we wrap up this chapter. How many pages are left? Are we going to run out of paper on which to write said pages?? I’m tired of questions. I want answers. Answers with certainty, even if they’re not what I want to hear.
As has been the case for my family from the beginning, we are fortunate. We do not have any one big thing that makes this especially hard for us (and, it’s very important to note, we have not had any loved ones become seriously ill or perish… yet). We have not yet missed a graduation or other milestone, had to grieve lost loved ones in isolation, or wondered where our next meal will come from. Like everyone, though, we’ve had our fair share of small things. They are adding up and I’m starting to feel like an avalanche may be in our future. It’s hard to take one day at a time and try now to look ahead.
These are hard days, and my win for the week is that I didn’t actually omit a signature on anything of importance. Praise be, I guess. I’ll take what I can get.
Sending love and light. Be well, my friends.