I feel like I’m living in the midst of a poorly planned soap opera where the writers keep upping the now-they’re-fucked factor until the plot is so unlikely and unbelievable that the network shuts it down.
When I was a kid, I had this friend, Rachel, who lived just down the street. This was the 1980s. You could ride your bike over to someone’s house mid-day unannounced, knock on the door, and ask to play. No parental scheduling, no phone calls, no definite plans.
When I was particularly lonely and the weather was particularly crappy, I’d go over to Rachel’s and we’d just sit on the floor, watching soaps with her chain-smoking mother, while Jesus stared at us benevolently from a portrait above the TV.
General Hospital, Days of Our Lives, The Young and the Restless… I watched them all through a Pall Mall haze while scarfing down bowls of dry Fruity Os.
Periodically, Rachel’s mother would pluck the cigarette from her lips, cram it into the ashtray, and shout, “Give me a damn break! That would NEVER happen!”
If only, sister.
In early February, I woke up one day with double vision, asymmetrical pupils, and severe vertigo. After several tests, I was diagnosed with idiopathic fourth nerve palsy. One of my cranial nerves is paralyzed.
Essentially I’m partially brain dead. My children were right all along.
The doctors assure me that it will likely resolve itself within TWELVE MONTHS. Meanwhile, I walk like a drunk and can’t read without holding the words in place with a piece of paper. Given the fact that I read and write for a living, this is rather inconvenient.
Fast forward a couple of dizzy weeks and we wake to the news that the storm that roused us around midnight was actually a tornado that destroyed our old neighborhood and the homes and businesses of people we love.
It missed us, and I feel guilty about that.
But it wiped out nearly every touchpoint of my children’s growing-up on its way. First kiss, first gig, first skateboard, every remember-when suddenly unmoored.
We helped dig out for a week, our small human hands and economy-sized Glad bags no match for nature-sized destruction. You can want to help, you can want it with your WHOLE SELF, and you still can’t fit a house in a curbside trashcan or save a lifetime’s worth of memories from a gully full of rain.
My eldest walked through town with her friends, picking up trash and crying, while insulation clung to trees like cotton candy on a stick, mocking us all.
I thought that was bad.
But that was last week.
What the actual fuck, y’all?
If I was a kid, (instead of the grownup I am who’s supposed to be in charge! and solve problems! and demonstrate leadership!) this is where my parents would step in and tell me that only people with limited vocabularies resort to cussing.
BULLSHIT.
I have been through the dictionary and the thesaurus a million times. I’m telling you, we need March 2020 editions because there are just.no.words. in the current versions for the situation we find ourselves in now.
How do you process no-school-no-work-no-church-no-bars-no-hugging-no-libraries-no-income-no-everydaynormallifebecauseeveryonemightdie?
What do you do with oh-god-if-we-don’t-support-local-businesses-all-those-people-will-lose-their-jobs-and-starve-but-if-we-go-out-we-might-kill-someone’s-grandma?
Or even, perhaps more personally, hey-husband-event-lighting-was-such-a-promising-career-especially-here-in-Nashville-but-now-how-do-you-feel-about-a-victory-garden?
I have no idea.
And I really, really like to have ideas.
I like to have ideas, and write about them, and imagine they are Mr. Rogers-eque helpers going out to make the world a better place. Or even just a less lonely place.
But I’ve got nothing this time. At least, not today. These days, tomorrow is lightyears away.
I’m writing to you on this poor neglected blog not because I have something that might help you, but because writing to you helps me. I’m “waving in the dark,” as Beth Woolsey is wont to say (if you don’t read her blog, you just discovered what you’re doing today).
If you are glued to a chair, trapped in an endless cycle of scroll social media, refresh news, pass-out-snacks-while-feeling-guilty-about-how-you-should-be-homeschooling-plus-also-probably-working – I see you.
I AM you.
And we will get through this together.
I don’t pretend to know how.
But we WILL do it. From a safe distance, of course.
Steve Walls
Nice to see this, even under these circumstances. No, especially under these circumstances. Thank you and God bless you and all of us. I appreciate your optimism. We need more of it!
Denise Q
This is it. I love you and mss you. You sre so good with words and I thank you for using them to help me place my feelings and ideas.
Karen
Brilliant. Hearing your story puts it all in prospective. Life can be so hard but there is always a place for gratitude and I am grateful for you.
Lisa
Brilliant writing, Jen. Thank you.
Big Daddy
Oh, the hardest thing is being so far away, for me. You are smart, strong, resourceful, You have the guts to not just ‘stay the course’ but to lead the way. Very Proud of You.
Shannon Truss
Good stuff, Jen. Keep it coming.
Laura
“If you are glued to a chair, trapped in an endless cycle of scroll social media, refresh news, pass-out-snacks-while-feeling-guilty-about-how-you-should-be-homeschooling-plus-also-probably-working – I see you”
*looks around for the hidden camera*
um… quit spying into my livingroom, Jen 😂
Rose
Please post more, Jen. I miss your voice.