In these chaotic times, when the average American is turned into a savage beast, vying for the sacred paper to wipe their divine asses, many of us are forced to make a choice on what is essential and what is frivolous. From the looks of the news, social media, and the grocery store, pasta, rice, and cleaning supplies have trumped (pun fully intended) fruits and vegetables. Pop-tarts have vacated the shelves, while peanut butter is in full supply. Canned tomatoes are plentiful, while microwavable pizzas seems scant. The world is not hunkering down for the apocalypse, they are shopping as if they are having a bunch of the frat boys stay at their home for a long weekend. Is this the true answer to the Covid-19 or to our "great" nation's obesity, heart and lung diseases, and the escalating occurrences of diabetes?
I am stuck where I am and unfortunately, not alone. My solace comes from long afternoons on the bed with my cat, Swag, and when he's not outside too, long walks with the neighbor's dog, Helmut. My mornings have not changed, with the exception of the effects of daylight savings. My midday usually depends on whether my roommate has slept until 10, 11, or noon. My evenings are usually spent waiting for the kitchen to avail itself or I will have eaten far before what most consider time for dinner. To be honest not much has changed for me aside from my longing to go back to work and see my children. They are, why I'm here. Not in a spiritual calling type of way, but they have kept me from fleeing.
The woods, or at the very least, a place of my own, out of the way, neither too far or too near my neighbors, would be fine. I often think of a one-room cabin, with room for a bed, a table with two chairs, an oriental rug, and a coach and a comfortable chair. A handmade coffee table, with books and my scribbled thoughts. A tiny stove and fridge. A small deck, a wood rocking chair, and a view of something which sparks wonder. A full bar, just in case. The finest spirits and some choice bottles of wine, should some traveler arrive, invited or not. Fresh veggies, some fruit, and my personal staples: peanut butter, tofu, frozen veggies, and rice. A real spice rack, instead of this mess I call a shelf. An area devoted to Swag's sustenance and my snacks. I would want electricity, as my movies will not simply play without it. Some music, but not loud enough to disturb what is outside. I am not a child anymore, so music, regardless of genre, is something I find soothing within, not something to force onto others.
I wish my days could start with a nice cup of coffee, my usual, peanut butter, and banana on toast. Maybe a sip of some Paddy or Jameson on a cold winter morning. Fire going. I would want to be somewhere with seasons or simply somewhere consistently enjoyable. I do want foliage and the colors to brighten each day. I don't need much more in life than what this so-called quarantine has given me. Maybe being close enough to drive into whatever town is closest and catch a game with someone whose life and beliefs are much different from mine. If I could not see them every day, I'd want to be somewhere close enough where my visits with my niece and nephew would be regular enough they knew who I was more than just from each particular visit. I would not shin guests as I know, not only the importance of human interaction, but the importance of releasing one's thoughts so they may be heard. This is a reciprocal process for those who lead happy lives.
This perfect place will never exist in my life. Not because I don't want it to, don't want to work for it, or don't know how to achieve it. It won't happen because these spaces I crave would not be what others want. The visits I crave would not happen. The perfection in the season would not comply. The cost of seclusion has greater burdens than simply financial. Everything and everyone in my life has their own situations, goals, dreams (important to note that goals and dreams are not the same, ever), and responsibilities to those other than themselves. I have less than most, but I not only respect them, I feel my accountability is my cross to bear. It makes me true to who I am and that is important to me. My dreams and goals will most likely fall short. I have achieved some, while others I've adapted for one reason or another. At the end of these very long days, living alone is very different than feeling alone, and there is nothing I can think of as being worse than dying alone. Nothing.
So why again do we need all this toilet paper?
I am stuck where I am and unfortunately, not alone. My solace comes from long afternoons on the bed with my cat, Swag, and when he's not outside too, long walks with the neighbor's dog, Helmut. My mornings have not changed, with the exception of the effects of daylight savings. My midday usually depends on whether my roommate has slept until 10, 11, or noon. My evenings are usually spent waiting for the kitchen to avail itself or I will have eaten far before what most consider time for dinner. To be honest not much has changed for me aside from my longing to go back to work and see my children. They are, why I'm here. Not in a spiritual calling type of way, but they have kept me from fleeing.
The woods, or at the very least, a place of my own, out of the way, neither too far or too near my neighbors, would be fine. I often think of a one-room cabin, with room for a bed, a table with two chairs, an oriental rug, and a coach and a comfortable chair. A handmade coffee table, with books and my scribbled thoughts. A tiny stove and fridge. A small deck, a wood rocking chair, and a view of something which sparks wonder. A full bar, just in case. The finest spirits and some choice bottles of wine, should some traveler arrive, invited or not. Fresh veggies, some fruit, and my personal staples: peanut butter, tofu, frozen veggies, and rice. A real spice rack, instead of this mess I call a shelf. An area devoted to Swag's sustenance and my snacks. I would want electricity, as my movies will not simply play without it. Some music, but not loud enough to disturb what is outside. I am not a child anymore, so music, regardless of genre, is something I find soothing within, not something to force onto others.
I wish my days could start with a nice cup of coffee, my usual, peanut butter, and banana on toast. Maybe a sip of some Paddy or Jameson on a cold winter morning. Fire going. I would want to be somewhere with seasons or simply somewhere consistently enjoyable. I do want foliage and the colors to brighten each day. I don't need much more in life than what this so-called quarantine has given me. Maybe being close enough to drive into whatever town is closest and catch a game with someone whose life and beliefs are much different from mine. If I could not see them every day, I'd want to be somewhere close enough where my visits with my niece and nephew would be regular enough they knew who I was more than just from each particular visit. I would not shin guests as I know, not only the importance of human interaction, but the importance of releasing one's thoughts so they may be heard. This is a reciprocal process for those who lead happy lives.
This perfect place will never exist in my life. Not because I don't want it to, don't want to work for it, or don't know how to achieve it. It won't happen because these spaces I crave would not be what others want. The visits I crave would not happen. The perfection in the season would not comply. The cost of seclusion has greater burdens than simply financial. Everything and everyone in my life has their own situations, goals, dreams (important to note that goals and dreams are not the same, ever), and responsibilities to those other than themselves. I have less than most, but I not only respect them, I feel my accountability is my cross to bear. It makes me true to who I am and that is important to me. My dreams and goals will most likely fall short. I have achieved some, while others I've adapted for one reason or another. At the end of these very long days, living alone is very different than feeling alone, and there is nothing I can think of as being worse than dying alone. Nothing.
So why again do we need all this toilet paper?
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