• Pandemiployment

It's Ambiguous

Ambiguous Loss - read all about it. Covid-19 has got everyone frantically shaking out their pockets, where the fuck are my damn marbles? I know I had a few left, I thought I left them in my fleece jacket with my favorite set of keys (you don’t have a favorite set of keys? The set with the smoothest front door key? The only set with a working mailbox key? No?)


Starts dumping jackets on the floor, listening for the distinctive clink of marble meets floor.


Nothing.


Shucks.


With no end in sight, the feeling of loss is a constant companion, the little parakeet on my shoulder chirping, “Lost your shit, lost your shit!”


In a way, parenting has set me up for this Pandemic shit.


One of the Truths of Parenting is that much of it is losing your shit and getting it back. Your patience has left the building twice by 6am when you woke up at 4am with a toddler covered in pee (watch that dinner water intake folks) and a teething baby.


You screamed, you aggressively slammed your water bottle on the counter, you took a deep breath (when you feel so mad that you want to roar, take a deep breath...YOU KNOW IT DON’T LIE TO ME SAY IT WITH ME COUNT TO FOUR). You bent down and hugged your crying kiddo.


It’s Sisyphean, parenting. You drop the ball (all the balls, because do you actually know how to juggle?) You stoop over, start stuffing the balls back in your arms, they roll out, you curse, it’s like a Ball Pit mated with a t-shirt launcher and balls are shooting out all over your damn living room and getting caught in the Duplo construction site.


Right now, I don’t care how much sourdough bread you’re baking. You lost something. You lost hugging your friends. Your dream wedding. Grocery shopping as an escape from your home, not a masked obstacle course. Going ANYWHERE without weighing the risk and the timing and your distance from other humans. Walking down the street and not having to run across the street to STAY AWAY from another human walking their dog.


I am fresh out of marbles. My field of fucks is barren. It is freeing to just admit it, sometimes.


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