Hi Darling Ones,
We like to romanticize the idea of a lone wolf living for nobody but themselves, somebody who gives no fucks and lives by their own rules. We super love this if it’s a dude. Women tend to be crones who live in the woods, though the young’uns are starting to romanticize even that. Good for them.
However, I’m here to tell yo that it is not romantic or sexy. In fact, it’s really very difficult.
The problem with being a lone wolf/old crone a year into an isolating pandemic is that it becomes very easy to slip away. Because I have a pretty stringent nihilistic streak that runs through my core, I occasionally struggle with the fact that I don’t matter. On a daily basis my existence means nothing to no one. I have zero effect on the lives of zero humans. I realize this a self-inflicted wound. I’m still coming to terms with my monstrousness.
Despite all this, for the most part, I’m okay with this. A lot of the time I have the strength and the confidence to be delighted with myself. I do a lot of things for no other reason than I want to.
But there are times where I get lost and slip away. I get trapped in the haunted house of my own brain and I can’t find my way out. Because I don’t matter nobody realizes it, and it takes me a long time to find the strength to get out and delight myself. That’s where I’ve been for the past week or so.
It’s not fun and I’ve been sad a lot. I’ve even spent time with actual people the past few days, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I try to find the words to talk about struggling right now, especially in the face of so many traumatic anniversaries. I try to ask for what I need, but what I need is someone in my life who will talk to me about the Jeff Tweedy memoir and creativity and suffering. I don’t have that. And so I slip further and further away.
This is ironic. I started the COVID Diaries project to not slip away. To prove my existence regardless of how much I matter on a daily basis. And I still lost it. It makes me a little angry with myself.
I’m going to do better,
P.S. Because the Declaration of Independence said that we are endowed by our creator with certain unalienable tights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness through rampant thoughtless consumerism I bought myself a horse. A vintage, wooden Russian folk art horse that I have lusted for in my heart for years. Because I was sad and wanted to pursue the happiness, I finally bought it. It is lovely and when I pointed it out to The Olds & The Youths at Family Dinner on Sunday my mom marveled at it sitting atop my Grandpa Cub’s bookcase in front of Muriel, the plant named after Grammu.
“Why did you put it there?” she asked.
“Because I thought it looked cute,” I said.
“Do you remember the gold horse?”
I did not. But apparently, when the bookcase was still Grandpa Cub’s he kept a gold horse figurine up there. My mom loved that I put a horse up there just like he did. Also, we learned that my Uncle Danny, my mom’s twin brother who lives with my parents and is one of The Olds who comes to dinner, has the gold horse in his bedroom.