Preemptive Retaliation

For some reason I’ve decided to write here when I have a cut on the tip of my right index finger, and it’s only now that I’ve discovered how much I use that finger for typing. It’s not quite stereotypical granny, punching one key at a time with an extended finger, but I’m not really using the full repertoire of digits to type. Things could be better on that front, and I wouldn’t be stumbling over this keyboard like a man wearing odd sized shoes.

So after my last post the world went into lockdown and we were kept in doors for months at a time. In fact, I think it was a few days after that post that I succumbed to the virus myself and spent a few days unable to crawl from bed and then a few weeks more pushing through fog that sometimes felt as thick as molasses. At least, I hope that was the virus and not something else – I don’t want to think what could be worse than that. Anna and Lily were somewhat unscathed by the whole thing though which is a relief at least. I’d usually be positive about spending a few days in bed, but alas I was too sick to enjoy it.

Over lockdown a lot of people became super creative and productive, renovating their homes and working on long dormant projects. I dabbled in baking to begin with, but that became too easy and I didn’t have anyone to share my creations with, so I nipped that bud pretty quickly. Most of my time was spent keeping a two year old from climbing the walls and watching her learn new words and grow and make sense of everything. Things have been difficult at times, but watching Lily learn about herself are precious moments that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

In the between times – between virtual meetings and changing jobs and endless episodes of insipid cartoons – I have filled half a notebook and a good number of digital pages with words. Some of these are pretty good words and they are in a pretty good order. As always I’m finding it difficult to make my way through the second act, but this is mostly because I have too much to fit in there, too much that I want to say.

My finger is bleeding now. I guess that is a metaphor for something?