This month seems to have flown by, mostly because of the inordinate amount of time it's taking to get ready to move. Moving sucks in general, but long distance moving, defined as packing when you're not living in the place itself, is ten times worse. Instead of taking half an hour here or two hours there to throw things in boxes before and after work, it's a marathon of twenty four hours. Each time I'm exhausted and aching, but I'm finally getting close to the end.

And then there's always the moving revelation that reminds me of New Years resolutions: this time will be different! You purge all of the little unnecessary things, swearing that next time you won't buy useless crap or keep that really cute top you used to wear when you were 40 pounds lighter but maaaaaybe you'll fit into it again someday, but I think it's human nature to hoard. It's certainly in my nature, lol. As the clutter disappears though, I'm finding it a relief that I'm forced to really evaluate if something is worth keeping, even something from my childhood.

Juggling boxes and logistics has also worked relatively well to keep my mind off of the coming election, and I'm using general coping skills for immediate stressors. I have news on a couple times a day to stay abreast of developments, but when my mind turns fully to nightmare scenarios I brutally shut it down, metaphorically turn that avenue of thought off, and sew or bake, or start organizing next steps for the move. Anything to keep my hands and body busy and focused elsewhere, and the mind will follow.

For the PSA portion of the post, I hope America will prove that it can be better than this acrimonious atmosphere, and I know it can happen, but we've got a long road ahead of us no matter who wins the election. For now and every day through November 3rd, vote if you haven't already! And for god's sake, wear a damn mask.

My cousin got COVID. He's a lawyer and judge, and had been going in to the office periodically which is probably where he contracted it since his law partner had it too. We only found out when the rumors started going around the family and after calling the likely hospitals he was a patient at Clara Maas. Luckily, even though he's about 72, he was released after 5 days with supplemental oxygen and is recuperating at home.

When people say this is a hoax or overblown I have the urge to punch them in the throat and stand over them asking "How do you like not being able to breathe?" Ok, that's an over-reaction and I would never actually do it, but the list of dumb things I've heard about the virus makes me very, very angry. The sheer stupidity of the American people absolutely baffles me when all evidence runs to the contrary of what they're saying, just by looking at the international nature of the virus and the numbers of people who have been affected.

I also have a particular aversion to downplaying this since I've been on a ventilator, and let me tell you, you want to be unconscious if it happens to you. Besides the pain and panic of mechanical breathing, my lungs were recovering over a week later and I was only on it 13 hours, so I can't even imagine what days or a month on a ventilator would do to you. Granted my experience was twenty years ago but I can't imagine that the technology has advanced that much more.

There will be books written, studies done and retrospectives of all kinds in terms of how this virus happened, the sociological, economic, and epidemiological consequences, and hopefully something can be learned for the next time so that we don't botch the response again. This is a time period to read about, not live through, but we aren't lucky enough to choose that. I'm sure those who lived through the Great Depression and WWII said the same. Endure. Continue. Protect where possible, mitigate elsewhere, and hope that there will be better days.

One month. On November 18th the day is set for movers to arrive at my NYC apartment and that will be the end of this part of my life. I remember what it was like to have goals and aspirations that at least were on the probable side of possibilities. There was a time when working hard did pay dividends in successes.

I think that can no longer be said in today's world, and I can't bring myself to do much other than grieve, quietly and alone, for the passing of any optimism I had. I don't know how long this pain will last but I'm betting it will be with me for a long time, like the other things I've mourned in my life.

On Tuesday I head back into the city for a couple of nights to try and pack more stuff up along with everything else I'll be throwing away, watching the sum total of my possessions dwindle. I know the nightmares will be with me every step of the way, reminding me of my failures and lost opportunities. 

Still, I have to keep reaching for some positives; I'm not homeless, and I haven't lost anyone to COVID. That has to be enough for now.

I'm preparing to fit what little I have to show for my 41 years of life into a 5' x 10' storage unit in South Jersey. If anyone's ego ever needs to be totally deflated, look at that as the sum of your life. I'm throwing out the first piece of furniture I ever bought, a tall bookcase at Huffman Koos in 2004. IKEA pieces will be dumped as well.

I've held on to my childhood dresser and night table through the years since I've never really had the money or space to buy "adult" versions, so those will be kept in storage. My bed, an etagere I bought at a yard sale in 2004, and some boxes complete the total list. How depressing.

It's all worth maybe a few thousands of dollars, but most of what I want to keep in those boxes are my books. A lot of the ones I have are worn and spines are broken, some pages falling out, but they are the books I grew up with. Some are out of print, all have changed cover art, but I want to reach for the edition I know, the one I can flip to dog-eared favorite sections in a heartbeat. Read about the aspirations, successes, tribulations, and romances that are so far away from my life.

I'm losing my privacy, the relationships I had left, any sense of ownership of my life. Reflecting on the harshness and lack of progress or success I've had. Left behind with so many of my generation and the generations below me, to fight and most often fail against the greed of corporations to rightsize their organizations and dangle shitty benefits and wellness activities as a poor substitute to actual careers, mobility, or adequate reward for the ounces of productivity they have squeezed out of our remaining shells.

Maybe it was inevitable that I would eventually end up here, burnt out, apartment-less and hopeless. I'm resigning myself to wage slave level if I ever do get another job and maybe it's fitting that 50 sq. ft. is the best I can hope for. I don't think I can depend on reality any more, so I'll keep the books that once gave me windows to better worlds, and if I'm lucky someday find somewhere to unpack them again.