Nothing quite takes the ability to blog quite like writer’s exhaustion. It is nearly a year to the day of completing my Master’s degree and I can now put fingers to keys and feel what it is to write.
And it feels lovely.
Not much feels lovely these days. These are the days of Covid. Days of teaching my child to wear a mask, of hand sanitizer and fear. So much fear. Politics aside, the fear quotient is off the sh-hizzle these days. Perfectly healthy adults are dying, the death rate for the elderly is disturbing and I love my people. I need them all alive. I know medical trauma first hand as well as deeply knowing what it is to live with loss. These days of Covid truly challenge my resolve to stay present in this grief, trauma and fear.
Therapy helps. As a trauma survivor, therapy is a tool in my tool belt and I say this loudly, remove the stigma of therapy once and for all. Seriously, my quality of life is better with therapy.
Getting another dog helps, too.
We didn’t intend to get a second dog during Covid. In fact this red coated beauty came home just 8 days before school shut down and the Covid closure began. We found her through the same adoption agency as Josie, in a happenstance open house meeting. We were at a local pet shop to look at items for a new puppy when we saw our favourite dog rescue agency was having an open house. Penny was there with her foster leader and it was just love. She is the most soft-natured dog we have ever had the good fortune to have. Also the cuddliest. And Josie’s name is “little spoon” but this dog wins the cuddle contest. We know very little about her first year of life, aside from the fact she was found kept in a basement of a home. And what resulted is an irresistible combination of a dog that loves the outdoors and just wants to hang out next to you. Preferably in bodily contact, at all times.
Covid has also let me feel the need to write again. I have many thoughts about what I want for this space, including…perhaps another book….(shush! I did not say that aloud, turn around three times and spit). Covid has made me tangibly aware of how her loss was 10 years and yet minutes ago. Loss layers, and we are in the midst of what could be a traumatic and loss filled time.
So here I find myself, writing again and considering the state of things. Considering this craft, washing dog slobber off my over worn “yoga” pants and wondering about school safety. These are strange times and dare I say, I am overwhelming sick of everyone declaring them unprecedented. That has become so overwhelmingly obvious it is nearly nauseating.
But not nearly as much as everyone posting all over social media pictures of intubation and comparing it to mask wearing. I know that tube, and how it sits.
Just stop it.
A trauma survivor.