The covid pandemic is now well into year 2 & its grip has tightened despite various lockdown restrictions & even the fairly rapid distribution of various vaccines, while the distribution of conspiracy theories has been even faster. Is there an end in sight? That depends on the profit margins, right.
Not only do the living have to bury the dead but they have to shoulder the burden of the cost – a burden that increases as the tax base shrinks thanks to covid deaths & lockdown bankruptcies. Like poverty, the pandemic will stick around as long as someone is making big bucks off it – I should have invested in pharmaceuticals when I had the chance 🙂 Or undertakers.
Emotionally I have remained relatively even-keeled. Sharing my house means my social bubble has never been one of total isolation. Zoom has been a boon for recovery meetings & I generally log on to six a week. Each with a slightly different format & different people. I am one of those doesn’t go on camera & usual I minimize to audio only to spare my wifi connection. Not seeing all those faces eating, pulling at split ends, playing with pets lets me focus on the sharing.
I have maintained an active social bubble within the stipulated limits. Socially distant walks with a couple of recovery friends has been important. Also sending time with some non-recovery buddies has kept them for being too isolated. I’ve had a a good friend drop over a few times to help with the garden.
Blogging & taking pictures have been vital to maintaining emotional & spiritual balance. Sharing things about various aspects of my life with complete strangers around world, most of whom I’ll never meet, makes me feel more connected.
Major purging has given me a sense of accomplishment – one of the benefits of a house is that I have things to purge 🙂 I’ve suggested to a couple of friends maybe they should clear out their apartment storage spaces rather than gripe about not being able to do things. The purge also stepped into my writing archive – unearthing artifacts that go back to high school days. Poetry, short stories, plays, even a couple of novels. Inputting them & getting the paper into the recycle bin.
I sure hope this lockdown paranoia soon has an end in sight though. My basement is clean enough, thanks.
Ballad of a Translucent Man
I would be happy
if someone greeted & invited me
as opposed to a nod
from the group clumped together
at their noisy chatty table
drinks all around
guys slipping outside
in two or threes
for a quick smoke of bonding
<>
I remain unbondable
I’m not sure what underlies
all that camaraderie
I have never penetrated it
never been apart of an inner circle
a pal amongst pals
but I no longer seek that
content in this cool distance
<>
doubt if that’ll change at any time
won’t work at changing that
won’t make my words invite
any more than they do
in fact I take a somewhat
more challenging stance
a gentle fuck you
<>
no one there
I need approval from
don’t have to please anyone but myself
the audience will respond regardless
in fact it seems
the more indifferent I am to them
the more they listen
<>
though this sense of apartness
is something everyone carries
perhaps I am as much of this scene
as they are
as much of the under structure
as any of them are
each of us looking for attention
for acceptance without
wanting to surrender
much of the self to get it
to get it for the self
for whatever that means
to anyone else
bored and distant warm
and in the middle of things
<>
each piece has a place
in how things work
how things continue to work
fellowship is that the word
friendship maybe
companionship championship
a steady climb up some little ladder
to a bugger bigger stage
the wow of applause
then the stride of celebration
that leads to
who does he think he is
who was that translucent man
paypal.me/TOpoet
TOpoet 