Break in Book Seven: Reconstruction 2020

I know everybody is feeling this way these days.

But I need a break.

Not just a break from work.

A break from everything.

A Life Vacation.

1 week where I don’t have to clean or take care of the house.

1 week where I don’t have to make sure I’m cooking and getting enough sleep and actively working to take care of myself.

1 week where I don’t have to make sure I’ve tightly scheduled enough time and enough spoons to make sure Nala gets a sufficient walk, and playtime, and attention.

1 week where I don’t have to deal with other people’s lives falling apart due to sexual or violent crime.

1 week where I don’t have to worry about how stupid people are and why I seem to be in the extreme minority of people around here who take COVID seriously.

1 week of just existing and that being all that is required of me.

AND… y’know? I was scheduled to have that in June. Twice, actually. 1 week in June on a boat in Canada. 1 week in June on a boat as part of Prosecutor Training.

I mean, I’m sick of bitching. We’re all slogging through this shitfest as best we can. We all have our own load we’re bearing. Hell, my Author’s Quote on this Prosebox has been from the very beginning: Each person feels pain in his own way, each has his own scars. (Haruki Murakami). So, I’m very aware of how NOT unique and truly universal this whole… malaise is. And I know that we all want a break.

But none is coming. So in order to get through it… I’m venting it here.

I’m tired.

Chronic Pain. Surrounded by Trumpers and COVIDiots. Working hard in a job of other people’s misery. Divorce process.

I know this sounds atrocious and misogynistic and all sorts of bad… but if I could just slam my hand on a button and get whisked to whatever vacation I could magically conjure for a week?
I’d go to the coast of Greece or Italy. Rent a luxury yacht. Have healthy gourmet food served to me all day while I sleep on the waves at night. Take walks through the town, play video games, read. And when the mood struck me, have a beautiful woman on hand that would meet my every physical need. Pain day? Full body massage. Amorous? Full service response.

While I do have my parents and some friends and some outlets and all that.... I just… I’m tired. Tired of dealing with 2020. Tired of dealing with life. Tired of dealing with what my life has become. I know it wouldn’t have been better to have delayed on the divorce. I know that well. But this is/was a truly shitty year to be going through such a significant life transition. “When, in times of trauma, it is wisest and best to cling to those individuals that lift you up and make you feel loved.” Well.... I honestly don’t have those. Nancy never was. And as much as I love MBFITWW, our friendship isn’t one where I go to him to feel restored. My family doesn’t count for various reasons. This is why I had made the plans that I did. When no individual can be a Restorer; when in need of restoration, visit them all and through a patchwork of Family Support, Friendship Laughter, Summer Activity, and Community Connection build a Restoration from that. That was the plan.

And now?

Now the plan is to wake up, often in pain. Feed the dog, who no longer even sleeps in the same room with me. Drive to work; where our staff and my boss are Full Trumper COVIDiots and are complaining about BLM Terrorists and COVID Hoax Restrictions… pleased to be in a state that “hasn’t lost its mind” (where in truth, I would say we lost our mind since we’re not taking COVID seriously as a state at all). Deal with people’s sexual assaults, domestic assaults, child abuse, and the whole world of people who don’t like accountability. Drive home. Walk the dog, thereby increasing my pain. Play with the dog while picking up her poop. Clean the house. Make dinner. Clean the house. Play with the dog. Go to sleep.

I don’t know why this is the image in my head but…
In a world where all you want is a floral print sundress… and you’re issued baggy gray coveralls.