A friend of mine posted this on Facebook today and I've been thinking about it a lot. Although some people may be actually doing new things and accomplishing things they've never had time for but have always wanted to do, that is certainly not the case for all of us. And to realize that no, this may not be the time to become the self-actualized person you've always wanted to be, achieving one's full potential including creative activities but that's all right.
Don't get me wrong. I'm definitely doing fine here. In some ways, I am feeling far less stress than I do in my "normal" life. I've talked about this a lot. For someone who has anxiety when faced with doing things outside the home from shopping to going to medical appointments, to meeting up with friends, being told NOT to do these things is just a huge relief. And I even rise up to that third level there with my relationships with my husband, my family, a few good friends, even if I can't hold and hug most of them and I sorely miss that.
But when it comes to accomplishing anything or doing creative activities, well- the thought of trying to do something that's more complex than getting supper on the table or making the bed or taking a walk is overwhelming. Even making the few masks I've made has required a lot of effort on my part. My brain isn't working like that.
Hell, I've been working on the same potholder for six weeks. Which is to say- I do a few stitches and then set it down. If pressed I could probably crochet a potholder in two hours. And yet- my balls of cotton wool, my scissors and my crochet hook sit on the couch waiting for me to come take them up and use them and I just don't have it in me.
Even reading can be difficult.
I started listening to a different audio book today which is not fiction or breezy memoir but basically history. "Guns, Germs, and Steel. The Fates of Human Societies" by Jared Diamond. It's heavily researched and filled with dates and facts and theories and all the things that require attention and some actual thinking. In other words- if I don't pay attention there's no use in even listening to it. It's not like listening to a crime novel about a nanny in a far-from-anywhere mansion in the wilds of Scotland and not ever really getting the names of the kids in her charge.
I'm not sure I'm up to this although I keep telling myself that this is exactly what I need to do right now to keep my brain from atrophying entirely.
But I tell you what- if I simply can't stick with it, I'm not going to beat myself up. I'm just going to let it go and move on to something that simply entertains and that will be all right.
And in other news, here's Jack sitting by an empty food bowl. He sits there by that empty food bowl for sometimes hours at a time when about ten feet away there's another bowl, a bigger bowl, filled to the brim with cat food.
Why does he do this?
Because awhile back I started feeding Maurice from a different bowl in a different location in order to try and cut down on the amount of squabbling and possessiveness and bloody fights about the food. That bowl. That location.
Which worked out for a few weeks and then Jack decided that he will no longer eat his own food but instead will stand by that bowl, beaming me with his mighty, silent cat powers to try and force me to give him his friskees in what he knows to be Maurice's bowl.
And I refuse and so does Mr. Moon and I have even possibly called Jack a jerk a few times and now he won't sleep with me.
I guarantee you that if I filled up that bowl for him he'd cuddle me all night long.
Oh well. I'm just going to let him be a jerk. He can damn well walk that ten feet across the floor and eat out of the blue bowl if he's so hungry. And if he doesn't want to sleep with me- his loss.
Okay. This is where the pandemic social isolation has led me. To a place where I am having trouble listening to books that actually contain INFORMATION and to having fierce imagined psychic quarrels with my pet cat.
It's been a day. The only thing I even halfway did of any use was to try and free my hydrangea from four different invasive plants. This is the mostly before picture.
Underneath the croscomia, Virginia creeper, and the chenille plant is a nice covering of liriope which, instead of roots seems to have a nylon net that could restrain the Hulk holding it into the dirt. The only way I've figured out to pull it is to start at an edge, dig with a trowel to try and loosen the net and then use your hands to get in there and your arms to pull like hell and if you're lucky, you might get a clump about the size of a teacup's diameter free. So I did that for awhile. It'll all grow back by next year so I don't even know why I'm doing this except that on weekends I don't walk which means I need to find another form of suffering.
So that's it, I guess.
I'm going to go make a supper and get through the rest of this day. It hasn't been a bad day but it certainly hasn't been a self-actualized one either.
Food, water, warmth, and rest sound very good to me. And enough.