Living in the time of pandemic: COVID-19 (164)
July 24, 2023
Year 4 of COVID in the Bay Area.
Year 4, Day 115: A friend is celebrating a big decade birthday and commented well, at this age, they’re all big aren’t they. Better than the alternative, anyway. On an almost related note, I hate that a favorite author is fighting cancer but she also tells the best stories during treatment and it’s hard not to appreciate these Twitter threads (I very much recommend the Clocktaur Wars duo and her Paladin series having just re-read them):
Year 3, Day 116: I actually remembered to put sunblock on before taking the kids to the park but still got sunburned. Unfair!
At least I won’t need an extra blanket and heating pad tonight?
This wracking cough is still plaguing me morning and night. Sometimes midday, but less often. I feel less horrible than last week but still frustrated at being sick for so long. I’m grateful that my doctor prescribed both heavy duty cough meds that I requested without question. We’re super fortunate to have good healthcare providers right now and hate that everyone doesn’t have equal access to care like we have.
Oh, speaking of doctors, I’ll have to see a dermatologist about this lump that mysteriously appeared in 2020 when I had no time to care about anything not dire. At the time, I assumed it was a weird body acne thing that would run its course but here we are, 3 years later and it feels like time to name it or get rid of it. The consultation will be about (I hope) removing it. I also hope it’ll be a simple procedure.
I am genuinely puzzled why society continues to expect less from cishet men than trained pets. None of this strikes me as funny. It’s more like she’s laughing because otherwise she’d have to cry about how useless he is.
This lady shared 5 dumb things her husband did when she was in labor. I helped translate. pic.twitter.com/Wcq46m1YVC
— Franchesca Ramsey (@chescaleigh) July 19, 2023
Year 3, Day 117: Overhearing an acquaintance talking about her writing process, I couldn’t help but think about all the writers I currently admire, the stories and characters they’ve devised that I love, and what sort of styles they’re known for.
Just off the top of my head: Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, Ursula Vernon, DJ Older, Nnedi Okarafor, NK Jemisin, Fonda Lee, Seanan McGuire, Kate Elliott, KB Spangler, Nghi Vo, Cassandra Khaw.
In my 20s, I dreamed of being able to write books/something that people would enjoy reading but had no faith I’d ever have the skill. My former English teacher always reminded me that Amy Tan didn’t write The Joy Luck Club until her late 30s, there was plenty of time. Some years on, having developed a bit of a mentor-mentee relationship with a very established writer, I asked this writer to read a post I’d written here for feedback. His feedback was insightful but I didn’t have the chops to properly address it. Maybe it’s worth revisiting, it’s been over a decade since I first wrote it, but now in my early 40s (and I know that old saw “it’s not too late until you’re dead”) it feels like if I was capable of writing something worth reading, or had an idea worth the time, that compulsion would have happened by now. Not to compare myself to Terry Pratchett in terms of skill, but in terms of that drive to write, this anecdote feels like evidence I just don’t have it in me. It doesn’t feel like I’ve got anything worth saying that needs my voice to say it.
Umberto Eco said: I wrote a novel because I had a yen to do it. I believe this is sufficient reason to set out to tell a story.
Maybe my yen is faded. Perhaps it’s time to put that dream to bed instead of continuing to feel vaguely dissatisfied with myself for not accomplishing anything. Because if we’re honest, I haven’t found a way to squeeze out extra hours in a day to spend on writing, and no one (who isn’t, say, Terry Pratchett) gets better at writing without a lot of practice, focus, and good feedback.
And entirely aside from that, the author stories from the trenches of having to market their books nonstop is utterly depressing. I’m terrible at marketing.
Terry Pratchett once rang up a friend and said, “I’m exhausted! I need a break. I’m taking a six-month sabbatical.”
Six months later his friend asked him, “Hey, how’d your sabbatical go?”Terry said, grumpily, “I wrote two books.”
— Owl! at the Library 😴🧙♀️ (@SketchesbyBoze) July 19, 2023
Year 3, Day 118: There’s almost something laughable about elderly relatives accusing us of being overly indulgent and permissive with Smol Acrobat, while complete strangers comment that they are well behaved in public (timing is everything). We’re tired, and we are trying to gentle parent, but we’re neither indulgent or permissive when it comes to the important things. Some folks just aren’t happy unless they’re dousing other people with their unhappiness and can’t feel good about themselves without insulting someone else. Must be sad to be them.
Separately: I was lucky enough to have a long heart to heart with a chosen parent about all kinds of family history including abusive parent figures and how we’ve coped with it. We’re fundamentally such different people and we have very different coping mentalities, and I’m so grateful to have found a parent in them.
Naturally, my gut couldn’t accept that they like me for me. No matter who it is, some part of my brain starts second-guessing why they put up with me. The imprints in my psyche after years of knowing that half my family of origin had no love for me, but not understanding why, keep floating to the surface. Who am I to deserve love? Nobody, that’s who.
I keep reminding myself it’ll take time to erase those marks.
Year 3, Day 119: It’s been a busy week. Mostly good, some bad, but having support from my chosen family so that I could steal a few moments without having to mind them constantly has been unbelievably amazing. I miss my community, I miss my chosen family, and it’s been pure joy to see Smol Acrobat bond deeply with Grandma. They’re far more selective about who they’re close with, whereas JB was expansive, and so this is the first time I’m seeing them really invested in a relationship with another person outside of our nuclear family.
I wrote a book a long time ago, then discovered that I was too shy of it to show it to anyone. I do think about writing every now and then, but don’t feel like there’s a story I want to tell right now. I sometimes wonder if that will change. I think I’m technically capable of the sort of sustained planning and writing effort it would take to write a book again. And I think I could certainly write much better than some of the writers who are routinely published. I don’t know if I would be as shy of my own writing as I was back then. But I don’t have the desire to carve out the time to do it during this phase of my life, even if I had a story I wanted to tell. It would come at a cost of other things that are more important to me.
And maybe that’s a way to think of it for yourself, too. I know from your blog that you are not “doing nothing,” no matter how it might sometimes feel. For what it’s worth, just as someone who knows you via your blog, you sound like you’re routinely doing a lot. And the things you do are good things that matter to you, at that.
Seconded. I’d like to try doing NaNoWriMo for my own satisfaction someday… but it’s going to have to wait until my kids are MUCH older. Because logistically I just can’t give both of those kinds of creations the sort of dedicated attention they deserve at the same time. My theory is that people with a true passion for writing can do both (because they can’t NOT write) but those of us depending on heart & skill have to be more prudent with our resources.
@Bethany D: I agree with your theory! Similarly, it’s not like I have TIME for the Lakota Giving project but it matters so much to me that I make it work one way or another.
@Alice: That’s actually a good description of how I feel. Not the the confidence in my writing part but I do share the sense that writing wouldn’t be worth what I’d have to give up to make it happen. Not right now, anyway.
I was thinking today about how I have so much less energy than 20 years ago, and trying to be gentle with myself about it. My body has changed and I’m not necessarily happy with those changes (like the ones that cause pain and disability!) BUT also it’s not my fault, it’s just how it is.
I also have trouble when I think about salaries though… like mine compared to others. It’s hard!
That’s definitely hard for me to do – giving myself grace or being gentle with my later in life limitations feels like giving up. It’s not! It’s a reasonable thing to do. But my feelings are not so rational about the whole thing.
And when it comes to something concrete like salaries, yes. I hate that when I compare my progress / salary to friends, my hard won salary that I’ve fought for at every step of the way, it’s still so much lower than theirs.