The COVID Diaries: Dying on the Vine

Hey Darling Ones,

Instead of being cranky & bored, my brain decided as soon as I opened my eyes this morning that we would be inconsolably sad & lonely. There’s nothing like weeping about feeling like you’re dying on the vine* and nobody is noticing at 7:15 a.m.

Wanna know a weird thing? Last night I had a dream that I attended a high school reunion (as if) and everyone I went to high school with were maskless jerks picking on me about not going to the bar. My argument was that I only came to this thing because it was outside and we were far apart.

Anyway, when I opened Gladys for the day I learned one of the goofy kids I knew in high school died. We worked on The Blueprint, the student newspaper, together. He was a photo editor when I was in editor-in-chief.

I need people I went to high school with to do two things:

  1. Please stop dying.
  2. Please stop looking so old when we are the same age.

Unfortunately, my sadness started before I read that news so I can’t pin it on weird nostalgic grief, but I want to. It’s one of those days where my thoughts keep going to all the melancholy and dark parts of my brain, and like 15 seconds later I’m tossing my glasses aside and pulling the collar of my shirt over my face so I can dig the heels of my hands into my eyes while I cry. I don’t like when tears splash my glasses. These are the kinds of skills you learn when you’re a crybaby.

I’ve been keeping a list of all the times I’ve cried and why since Sunday. I have a plan to explain the different varieties of crying and what inspires it. Crying, misty-eyed, weeping, these are all different. I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, other than I’m postponing finishing this letter.

In this time of vast nothingness I try to keep to a routine. Ostensibly I work in the morning, then I write fiction, then I blog, and then after that I shut it all down and try to do things that don’t involve staring into a computer screen. Usually, I trade Gladys for the TV, one screen for another.

Sometimes I listen to music in the dark and try not to fall apart. Though, sometimes I listen to music in the dark and think sexy thoughts. Or I listen to music in the dark and fall apart. Or I listen to music in the dark and don’t think at all and just feel. There are almost as many ways to listen to music in the dark as there are to cry. Life is wondrous and vast.

I’m starting to get hungry now and I have to stop putting off the inevitable. I’m a little anxious about what I’m gonna do tonight to distract me from my misery. Last night I made a covering for a throw pillow. However, today I accidentally grated my thumb knuckle while grating carrots. It’s the same thumb that already has a scar from a grating incident. Anyway, I’m not sure I’ll be able to crochet with this thumb injury and I’m not sure I’m capable of sitting and watching TV and not doing something else.

Bleh,
Jodi

*One thing not dying on the vine is Phyllis the Amaryllis who has a flower about to shoot up so she can dazzle us all with her brilliance. I like to have things to look forward to.

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