Hanging by a thread . . .

yes I am hanging by a thread.  And, the thread is stretching every second . . . and when it will snap . . . let lose . . . and I drop into an endless pit . . . I do not know.  It's one thing to choose not to go outside or to shop or mingle.  Now it's a production - mask, gloves, sanitizer.  Keep six feet away.  I am exhausted.  It's a production to go out with me in good times.  AND, now . . . well I feel totally out of place.  Misplaced.  Displaced. What other words are there to explain how I feel.  and it only gets worse.  This is my country now.  But I do have another country that is in more turmoil then I could ever have imagined.  The world is colliding within itself.  Imploding.  How did we get here?

The pandemic simply brought it up to the surface.  Embroiled in discontent.  Discord.  Unease.  Violence.  Everyone on edge.  The undercurrent of the prejudice that has been under the surface for decades.  For centuries.  In many forms.  Many faces.

All of this.  Yes all of this while I am still trying to adjust to my new  life.  My life of diminished mobility.  Lock down put my physical therapy on hold.  I need the therapy.  I need to walk.  At least more then I can now.  To walk with even just my cane.  It is hard to cope. There seems to be no way out. But neither am I alone.  We just represent a small fraction of people affected.  THE WHOLE world is affected.  And how we each handle this is very personal. . . intimate.  Our frustration.  Our way of handling it all. 

It's raining this morning.  Perhaps the tears of everyone . . . tears of the world in chaos.

Pity party of one.  Me.

A compounded life.

Complex at best.

But it is MY life.




You are In the Studio with Mrs B