The COVID Diaries: Everything I Touch Turns to Shit

Bleh, Darling Ones,

I fell into a funk on Friday and I can’t seem to climb my way out of it. I don’t know if it’s 410 days of pandemic or the unending grey that is April in Minnesota or the weird mood swings that come with being a perimenopausal woman, but I am unhappy with notes of sad and lonely that provide a bitter finish to this full-bodied blaseness.

When I fall into this kind of funk, I find it hard to type these letters because I feel like the most boring person on earth and nobody wants to hear again about the free-floating, nameless ennui that infects my life so frequently. Nobody wants to hear about a sad, fat giant, Jodi. God. Shut up.

The problem is I have some thoughts I could share that have some substance, but I can’t seem to get them in any sort of order that make sense outside my skull. Like the other day I scribbled some notes about listening to Liz Phair’s “Fuck & Run” as a forty-eight-year-old woman vs a twenty-three-year-old drunken ding dong.

And last night, I beat Wolfdogg in our yearly Oscar Guessing Game. It’s a three-peat and I’ve now won four times out of the eight times I’ve kept track of the winner. We tied in 2017, which doesn’t surprise me because last night we picked the same in ten out of twenty-three categories.

And tonight, I get to listen Michelle Zauner in conversation with Lucy Dacus, which should really pump my nads and yet the melancholy sticks to me like the smell from the burned patty melts I tried to make for dinner last night.

Maybe all I need is a shower?

P.S. I’ve been re-watching “My So-Called Life” for the 83rd time. I didn’t watch this when it was on the air because I was in college and never watched TV. I remember my friend Kari extolling its virtues, especially the mother/daughter dynamic between Angela and her mom.

“You know,” she said. “It’s about how you love and hate your mom all at the same time because she doesn’t want you to grow up and is always in your business, but you still really need her.”

My mom was never in my business. In fact, my mom actively avoided our business and when required to partake in any way, shape, or form, would complain loudly about it. My mom could not wait until I got my driver’s license so she never had to go to one of my band concerts again.

Despite all that, I really love this show because its such a wonderful snippet of the mid-90s, and though it is in no way like my high school experience, some of the scenes do remind me of college. Plus, this time around I’m really feeling awkward to the point of asshole Brian Krakow in a way I never have before. Still think Jordan Catalano is trash and always will.

P.P.S. I feel much better having just complained about all this.

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