through news
I’m emerging from underneath a rock called Covid (fine, a rock called nightly cocktails. FINE, a rock called every day I eat seven meals, four of which are dessert) to report something that may be helpful?
It’s about my morning, which went really well/felt really good/didn’t set my whole day off on the wrong body (foot is not enough) for the first time in a month.
This morning I woke up and did Morning Pages (for the first time in a year). Then I looped the dog (quickly) ‘round the block and went for a (very, very slow) solo jog to get coffee. I solo walked home from the coffee shop while singing a song in my head. It was Message In A Bottle by The Police (the one that repeats sending out an S.O.S 5,000 times), which feels like an aggressive metaphor but was really just what randomly popped on my iPhone before I started running (so an aggressive message from God?). I felt happy when I walked in the door. The happiness inspired me to eat a quick, good breakfast.
Then, after breakfast, I thought, “that was a good morning, finally. I think I’ll write about it.” And that thought was (for Covid me) pure magic.
For the past four weeks I have been down. Down and out of my routine. Down and out of my normal self. Down and out of my mind because of the construction still going on at my house. I couldn’t do yoga. I couldn’t do piano practicing. I couldn’t write. I tried all three for the first week. Saved in the drafts section of this blog are three different posts titled A Vacation From My Quarantine. I didn’t finish a one. Turns out - you can’t vacation from your quarantine.
What’s the quote? The only way around is through?
Who said that? Let me Google.
Oh. Obviously Robert Frost.
And, oh man is this prophetic/annoying, it’s from his poem “A Servant to Servants,” which you should read in full (after this). From what I can tell from my speed review, it’s about a woman that serves men - her husband and others, I think? She might live in an Inn? But she wishes for more. For freedom. The line is in there, but it’s different:
He says the best way out is always through. / And I agree to that, or in so far / As that I can see no way out but through
I’ve (mis)quoted that line a hundred times. As advice to a struggling friend. In a convo with my struggling self. But - I now realize - every time I’ve said it has been bullshit. Or - more accurately - I’ve been bullshit. I hate to go through. I prefer around, over, under, anything else. If it must be through then I’m driving 80mph, blindfolded. I’d rather crash than see (aka feel) what I’m passing.
And I do. Crash. Every time. Just like I did this time. Left on my vacation from my Quarantine and totaled the car inside my own driveway.
Post crash I’m forced to recover. This time the treatment course was daily lunch dessert, Ru Paul’s Drag Race, not showering and a stern chat with the contractor.
The construction ended last Friday. We moved into the new bed/bathroom. It has a big window that face east. And the black-out shades are on back order. The thing that was finally going to get me around this miserable time, over this awful shit threw me right back in. The sun currently rises in Los Angeles at five-forty-fucking-three AM.
On morning one I complained. On morning two I cursed. On morning three I got out of bed and rage ate two breakfasts.
Then, today, I got sick and tired of being sick and tired. (like Ru Paul said on Oprah’s SuperSoul conversation, but you knew that).
I was so annoyed about being annoying that I got up (slightly after the sun) and wrote about how I was feeling. This is a strategy that has proved helpful in the past, but one I try never to do it because it starts off feeling so deeply uncomfortable. My deeply annoying brain only remembers the discomfort until some other discomfort out discomforts that discomfort.
After five minutes of pure ugh, writing about feeling bad felt good. So good I decided I’d get all the way up and walk the dog. Walking the dog nice and early was peaceful, which inspired me to try and jog to a coffee shop. I made it all the way there without dying, which prompted me to sing a little song on my way home. And through and through and through I went, just like Robert Frost also said:
It took my mind off doughnuts and soda biscuit / To step outdoors and take the water dazzle / A sunny morning, or take the rising wind / About my face and body
(Can you believe how well this poem situation is working out for me?)
Yesterday I gave myself permission to never write another thing on this site. And that would have been perfectly fine. But today I wondered if my morning might help your mornings, so here I am again.
Let me be clear. I am fully prepared for tomorrow morning to suck. I am fully prepared for the back half of today to suck. But both those things will hurt a little less, I think, because this morning was good.
And - as I will remind myself tomorrow morning at five-forty-fucking-three AM - this morning was good because I started it by writing about the things that have been bad.
