Lazy Quaranteenager
I have been given a glimpse into my life if I were a full time author and I am lazier than I realized before the pandemic hit. If I don’t have somewhere to be I watch a lot of TV.
Last night was the first time I had done any writing in the past month. What I have spent all of my time doing is catching up on shows that I missed because other people loved them obsessively and always gave me that exacerbated, long sigh when I told them I haven’t seen it. Like when everyone built up Jurassic Park and I felt like it would partially never meet the high expectations I had built up in my mind and partially as a low key way for me to rebel against all the really good shit that other people liked. As if not liking something other people liked made me cool.
I finally cracked last year and watched Jurassic Park. It was fine. Sue me.
I decided to watch True Blood to make fun of a friend for liking it so much and there went two weeks of my life. My body is permanently in a L-shaped couch position and I think I have forgotten my middle name and perhaps some of my vision but I know I am obsessed with Eric’s subtle way of loving cementing what I already know which is that I fall in love with off putting, sexy assholes who will never be emotionally available unless a witch takes away their memory and I have to house them in a secret, underground cubby where we can forget the world and be sexy together. It made me face the truth that I will never have as flat of a tummy at Anna Paquin unless I actually work out and that is not really in my plans.
My first week of quarantine was spent cleaning and cooking and feeling confident about my chances of finding work despite the shelter in place orders and glad to have a short vacation and savings.
My second week of quarantine was spent feeling like I will never be happy again with the black hand of depression squeezing my insides and losing the ability to move from the couch. There I discovered sexy vampires being sexy as a way to escape. I was going to 2-3 online twelve step meetings a day and continuously trying to pick up my phone to call for help only to place it as far away from me as possible.
Then I found out a 22 year old kid from my A.A. group died from an overdose. I was aware that people were still meeting in the backyard of the pink house, but I just figured I’d stay out of it. Then I looked up the numbers on estimated deaths reported from alcohol and drugs, not including suicides, and I couldn’t help but sob. 3.3 million people estimated per year. 257,000 people in my community were estimated to die a month.
So I went to a meeting that was set to determine if people could still meet in the backyard and even though my speech was complete fire, the vote to close it was 70 to 18 so the club closed. I volunteered to help organize new spots for the meetings. I was going to 2 meetings a day with people who were under a year sober or people without phones or computers or with people who were new. My phone was ringing off the hook with friends who had relapsed and people struggling. I was receiving messages from people needing help and people who wanted to harass me and call me selfish and a murderer.
Other people started to volunteer to take over organizing and other small responsibilities so I started only going to one meeting a day and getting back to my life. After all, I had to get my car parts ready to put back together after someone backed into me at a stoplight and drove off.
A chronic relapser had been aggressive towards people in the meetings chat, so I intervened. I figured he had started drinking again, so I reached out to ask if he was okay and was met with an angry call and a personal attack in the form of “Why aren’t you here, it’s not like you have a job.”
I decided I was not going to be a part of any drama and the group was pretty autonomous at that point, so I backed away slowly as if the group was a hungry, wild animal that wanted to rip me to spreads and eat my entrails.
I spent two weeks on dating apps which is pretty stupid considering there is no dating, but I was enjoying matching with my friends and sending them sexual innuendos and just catching up. I went on one socially distanced coffee and walking date, but I wasn’t feeling it. I’m pretty happy just hanging out with myself right now without needing a relationship to make me feel whole.
I talked to another guy but only half heatedly. I feel like I’m supposed to want to date, but I just can’t put myself into it. So I deleted the apps and gave up. I gave myself permission to be comfortable not dating. It’s also nice not to be wasting time scrolling through all the profiles of men wearing camo holding some dead animal at the camera or profiles that only read “If you wanna know, just ask”. Glad to have peeked and glad to be done with it.
So the last week and a half I have been meditating in long showers, watching other TV and movies without the crushing depression and cooking/eating everything in the house.
It’s a fact of my life that I can be doing the same thing that I would be doing while depressed, but it becomes so different if I am in a good head space. I don’t feel like the eyes of death are upon me counting down the clock to my impending doom. I definitely eat a lot more.
The only other thing really worth noting is that I pulled the trigger and ordered 2 months of nicotine patches, a pack of cinnamon flavored toothpicks, altoids and a huge pack of spearmint gum. I can, for the first time in 17 years, claim honestly that I have not had a cigarette in 3 weeks.
The dreams with nicotine patches are more vivid than any dream I think I’ve ever had, or any that I can remember. The dreams are so amazing that I have been sleeping a lot more. I even had an inception dream lasts night. The contents have passed, but I know I had a dream inside of a dream.
I wish I could say that I accomplished more during this quarantine, and later I will definitely claim to have used my time wisely, but my only honest claim is I know how many people Sookie Stackhouse has loved and I can tell you exactly how many times I cried in 7 seasons.
Last night was the first time I had done any writing in the past month. What I have spent all of my time doing is catching up on shows that I missed because other people loved them obsessively and always gave me that exacerbated, long sigh when I told them I haven’t seen it. Like when everyone built up Jurassic Park and I felt like it would partially never meet the high expectations I had built up in my mind and partially as a low key way for me to rebel against all the really good shit that other people liked. As if not liking something other people liked made me cool.
I finally cracked last year and watched Jurassic Park. It was fine. Sue me.
I decided to watch True Blood to make fun of a friend for liking it so much and there went two weeks of my life. My body is permanently in a L-shaped couch position and I think I have forgotten my middle name and perhaps some of my vision but I know I am obsessed with Eric’s subtle way of loving cementing what I already know which is that I fall in love with off putting, sexy assholes who will never be emotionally available unless a witch takes away their memory and I have to house them in a secret, underground cubby where we can forget the world and be sexy together. It made me face the truth that I will never have as flat of a tummy at Anna Paquin unless I actually work out and that is not really in my plans.
My first week of quarantine was spent cleaning and cooking and feeling confident about my chances of finding work despite the shelter in place orders and glad to have a short vacation and savings.
My second week of quarantine was spent feeling like I will never be happy again with the black hand of depression squeezing my insides and losing the ability to move from the couch. There I discovered sexy vampires being sexy as a way to escape. I was going to 2-3 online twelve step meetings a day and continuously trying to pick up my phone to call for help only to place it as far away from me as possible.
Then I found out a 22 year old kid from my A.A. group died from an overdose. I was aware that people were still meeting in the backyard of the pink house, but I just figured I’d stay out of it. Then I looked up the numbers on estimated deaths reported from alcohol and drugs, not including suicides, and I couldn’t help but sob. 3.3 million people estimated per year. 257,000 people in my community were estimated to die a month.
So I went to a meeting that was set to determine if people could still meet in the backyard and even though my speech was complete fire, the vote to close it was 70 to 18 so the club closed. I volunteered to help organize new spots for the meetings. I was going to 2 meetings a day with people who were under a year sober or people without phones or computers or with people who were new. My phone was ringing off the hook with friends who had relapsed and people struggling. I was receiving messages from people needing help and people who wanted to harass me and call me selfish and a murderer.
Other people started to volunteer to take over organizing and other small responsibilities so I started only going to one meeting a day and getting back to my life. After all, I had to get my car parts ready to put back together after someone backed into me at a stoplight and drove off.
A chronic relapser had been aggressive towards people in the meetings chat, so I intervened. I figured he had started drinking again, so I reached out to ask if he was okay and was met with an angry call and a personal attack in the form of “Why aren’t you here, it’s not like you have a job.”
I decided I was not going to be a part of any drama and the group was pretty autonomous at that point, so I backed away slowly as if the group was a hungry, wild animal that wanted to rip me to spreads and eat my entrails.
I spent two weeks on dating apps which is pretty stupid considering there is no dating, but I was enjoying matching with my friends and sending them sexual innuendos and just catching up. I went on one socially distanced coffee and walking date, but I wasn’t feeling it. I’m pretty happy just hanging out with myself right now without needing a relationship to make me feel whole.
I talked to another guy but only half heatedly. I feel like I’m supposed to want to date, but I just can’t put myself into it. So I deleted the apps and gave up. I gave myself permission to be comfortable not dating. It’s also nice not to be wasting time scrolling through all the profiles of men wearing camo holding some dead animal at the camera or profiles that only read “If you wanna know, just ask”. Glad to have peeked and glad to be done with it.
So the last week and a half I have been meditating in long showers, watching other TV and movies without the crushing depression and cooking/eating everything in the house.
It’s a fact of my life that I can be doing the same thing that I would be doing while depressed, but it becomes so different if I am in a good head space. I don’t feel like the eyes of death are upon me counting down the clock to my impending doom. I definitely eat a lot more.
The only other thing really worth noting is that I pulled the trigger and ordered 2 months of nicotine patches, a pack of cinnamon flavored toothpicks, altoids and a huge pack of spearmint gum. I can, for the first time in 17 years, claim honestly that I have not had a cigarette in 3 weeks.
The dreams with nicotine patches are more vivid than any dream I think I’ve ever had, or any that I can remember. The dreams are so amazing that I have been sleeping a lot more. I even had an inception dream lasts night. The contents have passed, but I know I had a dream inside of a dream.
I wish I could say that I accomplished more during this quarantine, and later I will definitely claim to have used my time wisely, but my only honest claim is I know how many people Sookie Stackhouse has loved and I can tell you exactly how many times I cried in 7 seasons.
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