Between job insecurity hip replacement surgery and coronavirus, not much new to report. It’s all been reported. If it were not for C’s text messages throughout, I would barely know I even exist. And I still do not see any compelling evidence of that.
I feel like we are all being trained to develop OCD. This washing of hands and sanitizing each time I touch anything with a surface. I have to teach myself a whole new way to ride the escalator. It isn’t so easy.
How long can we continue like this? This might be the new reality. If there is such a thing. If there was even an old reality.
Most of the time, I feel nothing. Or maybe I do feel something, but that something turns out to be nothingness. I don’t know how many days and nights have passed since I felt something that was not nothing.
I wish I knew how to change this. How to turn this around. I’ve been wishing that for a long long time. It’s all I think about. It’s all I write about. Why would anyone want to even read this?
To spare myself confronting that question, the best thing I can do is to not tell anyone this writing, this blog exists. Which makes things a lot less awkward. And I can’t feel resentful about this, unlike when people do not show up at one of my performances when I pretty much take anyone who does not show up off my list. That gives you a sense of my level of maturity.