Okay. So Covid done and dusted. More or less. Still some dregs left. Like the leavings of coffee. Unpalatable but there to be dealt with.
Coming out of my cave, I walked into the cold temperatures of mid-January. Hurriedly paying monthly bills before due dates (those that aren’t automatically deducted), futzing with the plants that needed attending to, making a Trader Joe’s run, plus the hunt for more cans of grilled Fancy Feast cat food — a challenge as cat food seems to on the list of supply chain problem children.
And me. Still no gym (waiting for the dregs to leave). Trying to catch up on writing projects, which is slow going. Figuring out sleep patterns. Avoiding the heavy duty vacuuming that needs to be done. Chores and more chores interspersed with the things that keep me going.
Waking up to find that its January 13th is also to realize I missed the boat on New Year’s and things like New Year’s resolutions.
That was always such a thing. The short list of must-dos for the following year or at any rate, for the month of January into February, when it all felt so fresh.
List items such as: I will write every morning for 30 minutes, or I will practice yoga from 5:30 AM – 6:00 AM for 40 days, kind of my own personal Lent, if I were actually Catholic, but more to the point, liking the ring to the 40 days part of it.
The truth is I don’t have the heart for it other than to say I want to wake up without worrying.
And maybe that’s a bit whiny. In fact it is. No mistaking it because I’m living a remarkable life. And what worries do I really have? Sure, Jed’s illness, but we have it covered, more or less. We have a lovely place to live. Food on the table. Medical folks who respond when I call. Pensions and health care and social security and a bit in the bank. Isn’t that enough?
So If I land on anything, it’s to say find joy. Live joy. Be joyful. The alternative is like the dregs … nothing we should have to use to define who and what we are.