I can’t breathe. It’s not the virus that is plaguing the globe, it’s the one that always lies dormant within me. The one that is so much a part of me that I always know how to respond. I know the right medicine and the approximate dosages depending on the severity of the inflammation. I know how to treat this affliction, but all of the remedies are just out of reach.
I am paralyzed by the paths that lie in front of me. None of them seem to go far enough. None of them go past my front door.
Computer? Too much information from one side and not enough connection on the other. Where are my students? Where are my friends? Where is my family?
Movement? Rain is coming, followed by a threatening return to winter. The house is too small for yoga and the treadmill’s location in the dark basement has the potential to add to my already dark cloud.
Books are scattered everywhere and each holds the promise to a new, unchartered world. But I have to read differently. I have to read just for me, not for my reluctant reader or my voracious reader…there is no one to share this world with when I come out on the other side.
Writing is all I have. It is all I am, some days. The words in my notebooks and, now, on the computer, are all I can hold on to right now. And even those are elusive and temporary, lost in the waking house around me and the immediate needs of those I love requiring me to continue to breathe, despite it all.
amyilene 
You catch this moment well. I find I read for the future students, for the Grandson who is a bit older making lists. Seeking new books or genres I have not read – ever. I am finding that I take all the technology I am learning to have a virtual happy hour with friends. It is not the same for sure but it is helping me. I text friends more, I take more walks outside if only around the block in the rain. I keep moving. it helps with the breathing. Hang in there.
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Writing brings out a raw sensibility. We can’t take lightly that we are mining our psyches to share consciousness. Coupled with the invitation for grand gestures–the pressures to use time wisely, this can feel overwhelming during a pandemic. The word Pandemic offers drama, but we are stilling attempting to occupy our lives despite its infiltration. Thanks for sharing!
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Phew! This is such a hard time. I’m trying to read for my sixth graders– so I will have new titles to share with them when this is all over. And for my mom, who asks me every day if I am done with American Dirt, so I can mail it to her. And trying to keep myself on a schedule. But man oh man, this is hard! Hang in there!
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Writing as the anchor, the relief, the one sure thing – I know these feelings. It seems important to be able express the days that are hard and don’t feel good. There’s space for that on the page. May your breath find you at ease sooner rather than later.
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Thank you…your words mean so much
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Amy, Wow! This is SO good. You had my attention with your first sentence – “I can’t breathe.” Brilliant! I predicted the way this post was going, but it went in so many other directions (treadmill in basement, books with no one to pass them along to after you read them). This month of writing may be one of the most important months of writing that I have ever done. It feels so good to write.:) THANK YOU for your words.
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Thank-you.
Really. Thank-you.
I have written pages this week. Tons.
I haven’t finished a book, or even made much progress through one. Focusing? No. How do I expect my middle schooler at home to do so? My students on the other side of the screen, as they have jobs and siblings and concerns too?
Some days are okay, while others are not.
Thank-you for sharing a day that was not so others can see they are not alone.
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