Her Take, October 2020

Ok, here’s the deal: we started this blog because we like to write. No, wait, it’s more than that. we need to write. Not in a melodramatic-tortured-artist kind of way (I wish) but in a we-decided-that-we-both-needed-to-address-our-mental-health kind of way. It’s the challenge, the honesty, and the ability to say what we want to say when we want to say it that keeps bringing us back to write more. And when we walk away, in no small part because you come here and read it, we feel better. Healthier. 

And we did a good job of it for a long time. Sure, one of us (Me) was constantly late with their blog and one of us (also me) will suggest a topic and then get mad and throw a fit about how stupid the topic is. Hey, we know that we (I) have our issues to work out. But it’s good, right? We write a thing, you read a thing and.. Hey, with all of the love in the world, we started writing before anyone was reading so I there’s a chance we’d keep going if you stopped. 

Well, I thought so anyway. 

I pushed myself (or didn’t) through deadlines and tried to form this strict and healthy habit of writing something every week and then, hey… you know.. Everything changed.

And we tried, friend, we really really tried and we talk about it ALL OF THE TIME. (Yes, you’re getting totally gypped because we’re still emailing back and forth all of the time and all of our best lines are in those emails) and we’re still trying. But it’s hard to write. 

I think that, at the beginning, I felt like we could try to cheer the crowd up by offering a little something nice and friendly to take their mind off of the dumpster fire. But, eventually, if you stay in one spot while the dumpster burns, your house is going to smell like hot garbage, right. 

That might not be the exact analogy I was going for. 

Here’s the honesty part: I want to write everything that’s in my head, and I know it would help me, at least. And I want my co-blogger to join me. But I can’t make him write if I don’t. 

And everytime I’ve sat down to try to start writing for the last.. I don’t know.. Six months?.. The exact same thing comes to mind. 

Pandemic Day 100? (I don’t know how many days it’s been anymore): 

Today there were a whole bunch of people who didn’t really care about the lives of a whole bunch of other people that didn’t look like them, or maybe they wanted to wear a face mask, or maybe they were worried about sending their kids to school.. Or not worried enough. It’s unclear. 

The point is that I watched it happen and I realized that I don’t recognize other people anymore. The hate and loathing, the lies and greed, everything that is the worst in us has come bubbling up and all we do is fight. 

Well, not me, at least not much, because I don’t leave the house. I can’t. I’m afraid. 

Not afraid of getting sick, not really, but of being the one who made someone else sick. Of being the person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people and sending someone else to the hospital. Someone I love. 

So, instead, I scroll endlessly through story after story that crushes my heart and robs me of my will to go on. 

Everyday I wake up, even though I don’t want to, and start the day. 

I do my job. I clean my house. I put the dogs out and bring that back in somewhere in the range of 7456 times in 8 hours, and I cook meals that I don’t want to eat to keep surviving an existence that I can’t relish. 

I can’t see my oldest son, because he works in fast food and wants to be careful for us. I can’t be with my parents because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to them. But still I’m lucky. 

There are five of us in the house, so we’ve been able to have holidays and birthdays here. It’s not the same, because we don’t feel as much like celebrating, but it’s something.  

And it will be like this tomorrow. And the day after. And christ knows how much longer.. And I’m tired. I’m tired in a way that sleep doesn’t touch. 

See? That’s the update. And it’s neither helpful nor instructive, is it? 

I thought about trying to find a cute little pick up at the end. We have a five-year-old running around here, you would think I could come up with something like that, right? But that’s not what this is about. This is about endurance. 

It will end, I know, and you should know that too, and I’m so sorry if you came here to get a break from the crap and I went ahead and took a big dookie right on the page. I’m just feeling my feelings right now, and that’s something you should do too, because whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s totally valid. 

So do that and, until next time, whenever that is: Be well.