
I want to rant today. But why? I am one of those First-World -Problem-People. I am not
homeless. I can afford a take-away meal once a week at least. I am supported. Financially. I have a creative space. We have AC. My family is well. Considering.
My friends too.
Do I have enough to do? More than enough.
Am I bored? Hell no. so. What gives? Can I try to express?
My feelings, ideas, conversations, exchanges. I feel like everything I am these
days is wrapped in a prophylactic.
NO, not talking about wearing a mask. I do so, proudly, in support of protecting myself and others.
It is this cyber-reality. I haven't embraced ZOOM yet, but I have had a couple of FACETIME chats.
It's getting to me. I miss slightly bad-breath (though I can smell my own behind the mask) and I miss the smell of the subway. Musky clothes, perfumes, exhaust, slightly fetid off-odors of humanity that made me feel like I was part of the throngs of the Great Unwashed .
I miss being the clown and hugging people who didn't expect it. I miss just going to visit my neighbors, and leaning in to conversations. I miss being at The Arclight and hearing sniffles during the sad parts of a movie. I miss the smell of popcorn. I miss standing in a queue. I miss having tiny chats with other people standing in the queue. "Did you see that?" Then, "Was it good? You recommend? Nah, not so much?"
It's the mundanity of interaction, as, now, I am pinpointed. I am disciplined. I engage with a new level of self-consciousness. And then, I sit back and wait. Who engaged? Did anyone? Does anyone care? How did I come across?
I spend my day in a prophylactic wrap, fishing, waiting for a tug. Is anyone there?
I wait for those intuitive moments when I am thinking about someone and that person strangely texts! Hey, I was JUST thinking about you. Now how did that happen?
I am grateful to be able to communicate across miles. Still I am conscious of the fact that the platform is owned by some company. What data can they obtain from me? As I write, who is watching?
If you, like me, are overly analytical, you can play out this talk-to-self endlessly, and reach the high notes up the scale, from paranoia, to that existential sense of "What does anything matter anyway?"
Or, you can take a breath, and begin again, and again. Reminding yourself that "Perfection is the enemy of Progress." I hear people I love say, these days, time and time again, "Oh well. Right now we are doing the best that we can. " And "This too shall pass." I'd be a jerk not to concur.
Though in my heart of hearts I am being that outrageous weirdo, hugging, tapping, nudging, touching,laughing, embarrassing myself, and loving every minute of it.
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