During this unsettling episode that keeps going without breaks, it’s so very easy to get lost in the haze of discontent and hopelessness. We hung in a haze of anger and sickening anxiety.
The world hasn’t ended yet, but if you opt to keep abreast about latest developments, you would have to be inhuman to not feel your heart bursting with heightened anticipation for what lies ahead.
President Trump was an asshole at the time of his election, and he has evolved into an unsightly cretin and cowardly oaf, who disgustingly considers the deadliness of coronavirus as the annoying distraction that could ultimately end his political career.
We are living in a leaderless nation, and the only way to maintain calm and not tip over the edge is to try with all our might to count our blessings even if you come up with just a couple.
Yes, we are surrounded by threats to our lives, activated by the recklessness of those who either believe God shares in their stupidity or they selfishly want to bring a shit load of innocents along in their quest for an orchestrated untimely demise.
For me, the thorn in my side is cut deep by the insufferable antics of bored celebrities and so-called influencers who are knee deep in muddy narcissism, splattering on social media platforms with reminders of why an epic plague may have been the necessary wakeup call.
But time spent in mandatory confinement entitles recipients to master their surroundings for the sake of survival mode.
You want to stay informed, but at what point do you resort to self-care and periodically shut out the nonstop buzzing that rattles the spirit out of meditation.
I was actively practicing “social distancing” before it became the standard method of engagement for survivability sake.
I don’t miss the crowded subway cars that dominated daily commutes back when the city that never sleeps kept me awake. I’m glad I’m not stuck in our communal gym with a sweaty dude, who won’t take my lame excuses for not wanting to hang out.
Unwanted interferences from busy bodies who invade personal spaces to get your blood boiling have become a thing of the past, and nobody is happier than me.
My text messages from before, when we still didn’t believe the global pandemic meant us too, clearly depict the ranting of a very angry Black woman, who was in desperate need of an indefinite break from the triggers of human beings, everywhere.
I got my wish, but the cost was a lot higher than I anticipated.
Sometimes being alive seems like an overrated status, but as the weeks fly by with acute signs of abrupt termination, I’ve begun to really appreciate this weird thing called life.
Being with my parents provides a sense of security that not only recalls childhood, but also reassures adulthood in ways that empower my ability to be the assigned protector in an ironic switcheroo.
I’ve even taken to acting out monologues in a quest to revive the career that still pleasantly nags me into proving that I would’ve been a better than good actress in an alternate universe.
Exercising outdoors is a major step up from the previous venue that was stuffy enough to make you feel like you won the lottery upon entering and discovering airy solitary.
Keeping our distances from each other is quite honestly right up my alley, especially during periodic trips to the grocery store. Not having to dodge mammoth carts filled with provisions and kids or almost running into an incoming customer zooming at rapid speed is a pleasing reality.
But as much as I’m enjoying the avoidance of human contact byway of outside activities, I must admit the heartfelt edition of keeping in touch, through the pure goodness of designated helpers, has to be the unexpected antidote to this era of frightful direness.
Nobody can beat me at the game of assuming the very worst of everything and everyone.
It wasn’t always like that. I used to be outgoing, trusting, and adamant about regulating the best qualities to people I barely know, but as they say, you live and learn.
And you apparently never stop receiving the lessons that don’t demystify the complexities of human relations, but rather extend translations that break down the wall that you fiercely guard for obvious reasons.
As the erratic tempo of bleakness to optimism and back again continues to permeate wearied souls, there’s the danger of warding off any glimpses of hope for mankind.
But no matter how desperately tragic it gets, we have to endeavor to not forget the goodness that comes in various forms via the graciousness of strangers that you typically run away from.
Very recently I was a recipient of a timely and very welcomed offering that touched my heart and restored my faith in humanity.
It shouldn’t have taken a tangible gift in recognition for what I enjoy doing to steer me away from my dismal outlook on how our sophisticated engagement has negatively impacted human relations.
However, it doesn’t hurt to be challenged by the kindness of someone who cuts through the static, to reveal flooded emotions that reshape the dourness we cling to so emphatically, in order to escape the responsibility of openness, and how it creates the calm we relentlessly seek.
There is always good within the heavy strokes of bad. And the evidence is delivered through the gracefulness of strangers who won’t quit giving monthly dues even when the die is cast.
So when the tender sun radiates on my face in the bluest of sky — I surrender all and embrace what goodness can bring when you remember, and happily pay it forward.