No heroes, no villains, only survivors.

Baby, I promise I didn't come crawling back to you because all the things I usually would have filled my time with have been taken away from me.  Baby, I promise this time I'll stay. Baby, you believe me, right?

I'm trying to ignore that my last post is still the thing I am struggling through aka "What does it mean to live creatively?"  Maybe I don't write anymore because it forces me to confront how little I've actually accomplished and/or how little I have to say?  Naaaaah.  That can't be it. Maybe if I focus my writing?  On what though?  Does it matter?  Is writing even part of my version of "living creatively?"

What story do I have to tell?  What experiences can I share?  What's relatable?  Is trying to work through my decade long writer's block just another distraction from dealing with what is front of me? Is trying to organize and make my creativity productive actually stifling it?  Maybe.  Maybe the goal is just getting through this.

Yeah, yeah. I get it. Bad things are happening.  Bad things are happening, and I care a lot about those bad things.  But, being oversaturated with grief, feels a lot like not caring at all.

I stopped to stare at my phone for like five minutes just now and just scrolled through more of the same: Covid19, Covid19, Covid19, funny animal video.  Whenever things get too heavy, I fidget with my phone.

It feels surreal to know that huge swathes of humanity are being extinguished, and we still have all the funny dog videos at our disposal. It's surreal to drive on the freeway and see marquees telling me to wash my hands and stay away from people, alongside Disneyland ads.  Is this how the world ends?  Just feeling out of place and dissatisfied?

I checked my phone again and watched an ad about a blanket.  It was better than sitting with those feelings, I guess.

This morning, I did half a yoga class before my connection was so spotty that I gave up.  An hour later, I joined up with another yoga group--not fitness yoga, but spiritual yoga--and chanted and meditated as a group.  Instead of feeling connected to either experience, I felt like a fraud, a spiritual tourist.  Sometimes saffron is just orangey-red.  Sometimes the machine has to chose who to save, before the wave hits.  Sometimes you  need to make it procedural and matter of fact, so that when the choice is in front of you, the part of you that is part of the machine, makes THAT choice.

Oh wow, that's still bothering me. So it goes and goes and goes.

I check emails, I check emails, I check emails.  I watch hundreds of Youtube videos. I add a inspirational quote to my bullet journal.  I work on my handstands.  I imagine how it would look like if I snapped my wrists.  I move through some asanas. I vow to be better.  I vow to be better.  Maybe I'll get tired on my own bullshit. My hands are flakey from all the alcohol spray.

Hey, I'm sorry.  I'll try to be better. Hey, I'm already feeling better.