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Too Busy To Think And TGIF

Image by Comfreak from Pixabay

Too Busy To Think And TGIF

“I’m the perfect case study for why self-isolation based on societal demand makes all the difference between thriving vs. surviving.” – Gillian Sisley on medium.com

Every evening this past week, I came home exhausted. Why do a few small, simple tasks in addition to one’s usual routine take so much energy?

Drain one completely?

My poetry site name, Pendraggin felt real, as dragging a pen was out of the question. Hook up the Budweiser team!

Hauling the brain into writing mode didn’t happen.

I wake up in the middle of the night and re-rehearse processing documents at work.

  • Get everything else done first.
  • Cover keyboard and mouse/mouse pad with plastic wrap.
  • Put a few pieces of scrap paper to cover the desk top
  • Place stapler and calculator on another sheet of scrap paper
  • Get bag into which I’ve tossed paper from the drop box
  • Wrap phone receiver in plastic wrap
  • Put on gloves

After all documents are opened, scanned, and filed, I must examine everything in the office to make sure I didn’t miss one. If one is missed, I must do this all over again. After:

  • Wiping down the stapler
  • Calculator
  • File boxes/drawers
  • Pen
  • Copier/scanner
  • Desk top, even though I used scrap papers as a cover
  • Removed plastic wrap from keyboard, mouse/pad, phone

It is slow and painstaking. Oops! I reached out and opened a file drawer without thinking. Must remember to wipe that handle down later.

Rituals are supposed to be regenerative, rewarding, and inspiring. How can I transform this new take on everything?

I shop for another and myself. Tired of the fumes of sanitizers, I put all his groceries on the front porch yesterday. I sprayed the items with bleach and water, sprayed the plastic lined shopping bags, and let it all dry out on the stoop.

Except for the Brussels Sprouts. How do you sanitize those? Enclosed in a plastic bag, they are put into the crisper.

I can’t do the same for myself – I don’t have a porch. Opening the kitchen window in rain snow or sleet must suffice.

This daily or twice daily grind performed in the fog of rubbing alcohol, bleach, or the cloying perfumed wipes at the office, makes my lungs ache. The exact situation we are warned to avoid in the face of this Covid 19.

One reason for all the plastic wrap. If I am very careful, I can use less aerosol spray.

Three nights this past week I did not exercise. I did not write. 

This fatigue reminds me of the years of kicking myself into daily ballet class, when I didn’t know my thyroid gland was sliding down the charts. I was elated when I read a world class ballerina describe daily class as a “grind”. 

I try not to think about how my last five decades could have been completely different in terms of productivity if endocrine testing for tired teens had been a thing in the 1960’s. I would have gladly taken the fixer drug all my life if my doctor had ever recommended it.

Instead I went down a lot of alternate medicine rabbit holes (some good) while it became increasingly difficult to drag a pen.

The last year has been better. Reading up on iodine, I decided to take twenty-five times the dose once recommended to me.

(No, I’m not recommending that for anyone else).

My metabolism became significantly more alive. Whew.

Now we’ve had the rug pulled out from under us, all of us, no matter our general health/wealth/achievements/awards/fame et al.

No magic carpet.

No magic pointe shoes molding to our feet for a perfect fit. (Finally a reference to Sedona, the purpose of this blog!)

Now, Thank God It’s Friday is a meaningful mantra. I laugh at the many and creative gifs, photos, and slogans appearing on Facebook about peeps dealing with the Stay Home orders. 

One minute I envy them. I want to stay home and feel safe.

The next minute I’m glad I can work. It’s perfectly safe!

Except for the folks who believe it’s a hoax, a false flag Op. Who refuse to wear masks or gloves, who are surprised and sometimes angry that our office is locked. SMH.

There is no magic carpet to assuage the necessary social distancing.

Sedona’s loved ones are world away. Unlike these song lyrics, it is not a continent and it’s not O.K.. 

 

The article mentioned at the top is a good read! I could have said much of it myself…but I could not drag the pen.

How much does your pen weigh these days?

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