I just finished my second pot of coffee.
It’s either that or eat. Nonstop.
And I’m trying to use my school stomach. Like the memes keep telling the children to do.
But y’all. I’m struggling.
I’m struggling in a really weird way. Like, I’m ok. But I’m also not ok. At the same time.
I don’t even know.
I’m really good at compartmentalizing.
GBFF…WHTBS says it’s like a superpower or something.
Like, a really solid self-serving super power.
I got some sad news yesterday. I won’t discuss it here. That’s not what this is for.
But it was the kind of news that would make a normal person cry.
In fact, the person delivering the news to me was in tears as she did so.
And normally, even just hearing someone else cry would be enough to make me weepy.
But my compartmentalizing ass just took in the information.
And went about my day.
Seriously. Your girl who will cry at things she can’t even explain. Or sometimes even identify. Just held that shit in and didn’t even process it.
Branch And A Half Military was there when I got the call. And asked if I was ok.
Yes. I am. I’ll process this later. I’ll be sad later. Right now, it just needs to sit in my brain for a while.
And I’m certain that makes me look like a freak.
It’s this damn superpower.
It’s how I used to be able to walk through the local pound. Interacting with all of the dogs and cats. Knowing that many of them wouldn’t make it out alive. Photographing them. As they cowered in the corner. Shaking. Terrified. And alone.
And not completely lose my shit.
Not a single tear as I was experiencing it.
Not a single emotion. In the middle of the pound.
But then I’d go home. And write about it. And the floodgates would open.
The floodgates on yesterday’s loss haven’t opened yet.
I’m just kind of keeping all of my emotions at bay right now.
It’s just a really weird time right now, right? I’m not sure most of us know how to process what’s happening.
So, we’re just kind of going along with our daily lives.
But also not.
I spent the weekend on mountains. Like normal.
Maybe that was socially irresponsible.
Maybe it was exactly the right thing for me to do. So I don’t just completely lose my shit.
Because I know mountains help me.
The views. And the physical exertion. And the facing down a challenge and overcoming it. And the just really excellent people I run with.
And I’ma still write about it. Because that’s what I do.
I know that I have to maintain as much physical activity as possible throughout all of this. Or I won’t come out the other side of this the same person.
And I’ve worked really hard to become a person I even kind of like. Most of the time.
And I’m not sure I realized how important the physical activity was until this morning.
When I logged onto PlayFITStayFIT’s online class. At 7:50am.
And it was just me and J-Vicious.
Because apparently we’ve all just stopped waking up before 8am…?
Seriously, y’all.
Look at that.
We had this discussion yesterday. On the Facebooks. And we all agreed. I remember. Y’all said, “Yes, J-Vicious. An 8am class would work for me. Let’s do it.”
And so I did it.
I gathered up my lightest weights. (We’re not telling J-V that maybe my son left some heavier weights behind when he moved out. Because we know how he likes to make me lift heavier.)
And even put J-V on the TVs.
But y’all didn’t do it…
You just left me in there. Alone. With him.
And normally the last place you want to be is alone. With J-V.
But this isn’t normally.
This is pandemic.
And I was still subconsciously hurting from yesterday’s loss.
And I sincerely. Sincerely. Appreciate J-V’s willingness to talk through that with me a bit this morning. As we waited for y’all to show up. And waited. And waited…
We didn’t go deep into it. I didn’t require him to counsel me. I didn’t break down in tears. He just allowed me to verbalize it. And he offered me empathy. And then silence.
Which is exactly what this introvert needs right now.
And then his willingness to say, “No class this morning. Let’s try again this afternoon.”
(Y’all better show up at 5pm. I’m not even playin with you people. You made a commitment. To me. And if you haven’t heard, I don’t have a fucking job through the end of the school year. So I’ve got ALL the time in the world to find your homes. And congregate there. In groups of 9. Because I’m also a rule follower.)
So, I switched over to Roanoke Yoga’s Yoga for Neck & Shoulders session.
Which was my plan for after the 8am PFSF workout.
She said I’d need a strap. And block. And explained what I could use if I don’t have those.
I had a strap. Courtesy of Smart Child’s Christmas gift.
I do not have a block, though.
A really big book.
Lemme tell you that any hardback Stephen King book will serve the same purpose as a yoga block.
Well done, Mr. King.
And holy hell, y’all.
Neck & Shoulders was on point.
I didn’t even realize how much I was carrying around back there.
Until I felt the full on release during the last minutes of that class.
The last minutes of savasana.
That turned into 15 minutes.
Because I needed those 15 minutes.
I eventually woke up. And found Roanoke Yoga gone.
Which in a non-pandemic real world setting would have been weird. And maybe a little scary.
But in this stay at home Stephen King yoga block book pandemic virtual yoga world. It was perfect.
I rolled on off of “The Talisman” and crawled around on the floor for a little while.
Until I was ready to get up. And try to be normal. For a little while.
Not sure how well I’m managing the normal part.
But I’m up. And being semi-productive. And trying to take in all of the information. While also trying to block it all out.
Because your introvert is overwhelmed.
And she needs y’all to show up. For class. At 5pm. So she can have some damn normal for a minute.
Also. Help out your small business friends. I need PlayFITStayFIT and Roanoke Yoga to survive this. If you’re lucky enough to have a steady salary still coming in. Throw some cash their way. They are effectively working for free right now. Because they believe in what they’re doing. And they need to survive this. If you’re gonna use their online services, offer to pay them for it.
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