We are all looking back on the past year and what we’ve lost, found and missed. This month marks the one year anniversary of when I was unable to get tested for COVID-19, so I was tested for everything else. I stayed at home, in my bedroom for a month. During that time I read, planned projects and dreamed. When I returned to work in April, I was angry at the people who told me they had to get out of the house, because they had watched everything on Netflix, and Hulu. To hear someone tell you that your health is less important than their boredom is sickening. (And people often question why those of us in retail start to really hate people, it’s due to comments like this.)
Throughout last summer a number of my co-workers quit because they feared being in public and bringing COVID home to their families. By September, I was in my own version of And Then There Were None, (and having to explain to my co-workers what I was talking about.) By Christmas we were better staffed, and I felt that I was still doing some of the things that made me happy: reading, cooking, and learning how to knit.
Since the beginning of this year I feel as though my life is slipping through cosmic fingers. I wake, eat breakfast, get ready, go to work, work, come home, eat dinner and get ready for bed. My reading hasn’t been at the same level as even a year ago. A few of my projects have been completed and I’m thrilled as I mark them off the list. But, I’m barely reading, I’m eating a lot of sugar, (I don’t have a craving for anything beyond the sugar), my stress level stays high, and even my depression is slipping in more and more often. Too many days I feel raw, that horrible feeling that tears and anger are just below the surface and anything could set them lose. March is nearly over and I’ve barely read anything. I’ve started two books, but I haven’t gotten very far in either. Last week, I started to plan and cook (thank you stimulus money) and I’m forcing myself to eat something more than sugar. But that craving is still there.
Something that I’ve never been good at is taking care of myself. Whenever my stress levels start to increase and I crave sugar I eat the sugar. As I get stressed I stop doing things that make me happy, reading and writing, cooking, exploring my city, learning about anything that captures my attention and curiosity. Instead, I watch (somewhat) television and I rest. I plan, looking at websites, and making lists and doing almost nothing. While I look at the websites my mania will kick in, but then the depression follows closely. And when I’m depressed I feel as though I’m getting pushed through life, unable to stop and find my own way.
This past Sunday I had hoped to take the day off to go out and walk around a couple of parks and take photos. I couldn’t get the day off, instead I was allowed to come in late. Walking around the Myriad Gardens my mind began to wander. I thought about how people who don’t pursue creative avenues laugh at those that do. I’ve been laughed at by people when they learn that I write and that I’m learning to take better photos. No one likes to be laughed at and so I don’t mention it to too many people. Not many know that I write, or that I’ve been published. There is a brick wall between me and people I meet. There’s a lot that I simply don’t mention. Even when I’m barely hanging on I don’t mention it. The few times I have mentioned my issues I feel as though the person I’m talking to wants to get into some kind of contest of who’s life is worse.
Some feel social media is a means of reaching out and connecting. Since October I’ve posted very little on social media. On Instagram I feel as though I see the same books and when I’ve posted serious books, the books that aren’t gaining a lot of attention I don’t feel as though I’m connecting with anyone. The comments have stopped and I wonder if anyone is even seeing my posts. With time slipping past so quickly, I decided that I would stop posting through the end of 2020. But here it is nearly the end of March, and I don’t feel like posting. I’d rather grab a book, a cup of tea and chocolate and sit and read, without setting up a photo that should look like others already on IG so that there’s that IG aesthetic. I barely even look at the accounts I’ve favoured as Tea, Chocolate and Books.
I’ve questioned what I’d do about this blog. I enjoy writing it and there have been some readers. Even if these entries simply go out into the void they help ground me. It may take me some time to write about books and the book world, but I am working on reclaiming my time and doing those things that make me happy and fulfilled.
Tea, Chocolate and Books 