I learned from an author-acquaintance this morning that he has not achieved nearly the amount of writing during the lock-down as he had wanted and expected. So it is not just me.
The days seem to run into weeks and into subsequent weeks. If one is not an avid daily television watcher, it is hard to distinguish one day from the next. I sometimes imagine myself in an assisted-living home somewhere, where the only thing I am ever certain of is when it seems to be meal time, according to my stomach.
If there is some project that is tough to begin or tough to finish, it’s always easy to just look the other way. Tomorrow will be here soon enough and THEN I can tackle that job.
I personally have a dozen or more books in various stages of completion, operate a handful of websites and blogs, and I’m trying my hand at a collection of short stories. If the frost will stay away for the spring, I have tomato plants in small pots, waiting to be transplanted outside. So it’s not like I have extra time.
I still do go an adventure from time to time when PJ takes me with her to the grocery. But I am dealing with odd and awkward vision left from a detached retina surgery/procedure three weeks ago. I have an odd and awkward gait and balance walking left from a slight bit of multiple sclerosis (or something similar.) And I am finding lately that the sum of the health, weather, and virus activities on the planet is starting to leave me with an odd and awkward sense of humour at times.
Altogether, PJ says she finds that I slow her down at the market, and would prefer not to take me along. So my adventures are becoming more and more rare.
When the social distancing began, the reason was to keep the hospitals from being overwhelmed. We were told to “flatten the curve.” Now most of what we worried about did not happen, so out goal seems to have evolved into “don’t let anybody get sick.” So we are considering extending out quarantines.
This, then is the snapshot. Nothing is getting done on a personal level, because there is too much time on our hands. Nothing is getting done on a state or federal level, because there is no commerce occurring. And nothing is getting done on an artistic level, because (to steal from Alan Jackson) it’s always mealtime somewhere.
You can’t drag out the paint and canvass if you are just going to have to wash your hands in a minute.
Photo by me, waiting with PJ at the hospital.
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