Well, I started this post a couple of months ago, pre-Covid. Figured I'd post it anyway, then add to it, and update/continue it at the end. What the hell, right? Nobody has a damn clue what day it is anyway. Now go put your pants on.
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February, 2020
Somehow, we all manage to get up every morning. It might take us longer some days than others, but for the most part, we drag ourselves out of bed, caveman (caveperson?) style, knuckles scraping the floor. Personally, I used to be one of those people that didn't mind getting up at the crack of dawn. I was a dreaded "morning person", that most non-morning people couldn't understand or even try to comprehend. I didn't mind being that guy, and that was the husband role I played, because my wife was absolutely, unequivocally, unilaterally, not a morning person. So "Time to get up" was my catch-phrase, which I repeated liberally every morning, and the usual response was something that sounded like "grrrumblesuck". This banter would be repeated, often for up to 30 minutes, then my other handy catch-phrase "You're going to be late" would be repeated until I heard "ifckinherdu" which sounded a lot like Swahili, or at least what I imagined Swahili sounded like.
The reason I bring this all up, is that in these last few years of turmoil, my entire body's ecosystem, if there is such a thing, has been thrown off it's axis. I've tried to not totally spin off into the stratosphere, especially since Abby's passing, but I am still struggling getting up in the morning with the same zeal and zest I used to. I'm sure part of that is my (again) "underemployment", but it feels more like my internal clock has been cleaned and reset. I used to be up and at the gym between 5-5:30, and if not, get into work by 7 or so. I didn't mind it- less people, less traffic, less headaches. Now I'm lucky if I can get my proverbial ass out of bed between 6-6:30, assuming the dogs and cats have signed their waivers that allow me that luxury.
I have been good about working out this last year. After years of being a dedicated gym-goer, the year+ that Abby was sick did a number on me, mentally and physically, and I got to a point where I just couldn't, wouldn't, didn't have the energy to go to the gym. Which also meant that I didn't get that kick of endorphins that I so desperately needed to continue to get myself through the days/weeks/months. When Abby said she wanted to get a spin bike to try and stay active, part of me thought it was a good idea, and maybe I'd use it too. Then part of me thought it'd become a coat rack. And when she told me she thought the Peloton commercial looked cool and maybe we could look into it (way before this past Xmas holiday ad where a husband buys his wife one and they share their love via sweat), I actually looked into it and when I found I could by a cheap(ish) used car for the same price had myself a good laugh, albeit a private one, and when I told Abby how much they cost, she scribbled a giant "WTF" on her notepad, then a "WTF RU kidding?"
As it turns out, to make a long story just a bit longer, I bought a very nicely rated, more reasonably priced, Diamondback spin bike. Though Abby honestly didn't use it much, I have spent the last year using it frequently, and it's been somewhat of a salvation. I feel better; it's one room away in my office; and I'm able to binge watch Netflix/Amazon shows ( I won't watch movies- no idea why) on my 27" monitor. I only allow myself to watch the next episode of whatever it is I'm streaming unless I get back on my bike the next morning, or whenever. I haven't let myself cheat either. So far: all five seasons of "The Wire", which I can't believe I never watched when it was on; "Peaky Blinders" five seasons, which is also terrific, though the various British accents are tough, especially if you get sweat in your ears; Two seasons of "End of the F*cking World" a very good/strange/odd British series about young, sort-of-almost homicidal lovers; "Penny Dreadfuls" (very good); "Get Shorty" (great); "Chilling Adventures of Sabrina the Teenage Witch" (better than you'd think); "Sex Education" season one (great); "Bonding" season one (really good); "Dead to Me" (very good but hits too close to home for me); "Maniac" with Jonah Hill and Emma Stone (weird but very good); and finally, I just finished "Mr. Robot" with Rami Malek, pre "Bohemian Rhapsody"- he plays a hacker- sounds like it could be boring but it's really great- lots of trouble out there in codeland.
There are plenty of other shows I watch, btw, just not necessarily while I'm working out. One that I've started and stopped is "Breaking Bad". Yes- I know it's great and I still can't believe I never watched it. And yes, I know his cancer is just a part of the subplot. But I still haven't been able to get past it. Maybe I'll try again down the road a bit- we'll see. But I've come to a point in my life where I don't have to do something just because I should, or because someone recommends it, or because there's so much social media buzz, or there's a movie in the works, or people are talking about it around the water cooler (more likely it's one of those reverse osmosis machines where you just fill your own water bottle up). No, I'm now 60 years old (Abby, WTF?), and I happily take suggestions on new/old shows etc. But no, I'm probably not going to ever watch "Schindler's List" either (gasp) despite that's I know it's great, it's Spielberg, it's more uplifting than you think, all of the above.
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And now through the magic of words, we fast forward to April 24, 2020
Season 3 of Ozark is under my belt now- it's pretty great. "Hunters" on Amazon, too. Really liked it- started slow but picks up to a nice crescendo, though some of the "historical- type" footage was tough, even if it was recreated. See my reference to "Schindler's List" above.
Nothing like a nice pandemic to truly make you aware of how alone you really are. I'm envious of the people I know who are self-quarantining with their husbands/wives/kids/roomies etc. Of course, that's assuming you all get along, haven't filed divorce papers or eviction notices, called the police on your children to get them to behave, or run out of ideas for entertainment. There are only so many 1,000,000-pieced puzzles to solve I suppose, and only to discover that the last piece was eaten by Fido. If you're looking for it, you can find in the pile of poop he left for you in the living room behind the couch. Yes, that's where that smell is coming from.
As much work as it is, I'm certainly lucky that I have my animals for company. Unfortunately, I did have to put "Jake" down around Xmas 2019. It was his time as they say, and he was starting to be in pain, which is where I drew the line. He was only 12, but being a rather large boy of about 110lbs., his hips couldn't take another surgery, and I couldn't carry him up and down the steps anymore- just ask my back. But in a way though, my pups Ginger and Jada are getting along better- I guess threesome's can be hard to manage in the dog world. And in the human world too, at least from what I've heard and seen in movies. And the cats, Mitzy and Maggie, have one less foe to deal with, though Jake was always the least likely suspect to chase them- big overweight hounds are just not known for their scampering abilities.
Being home alone 24/7 has somehow made my animals even more attached. I don't know how it's going in your household, but I can't be in a room, or walk into a room, without an entourage. Under my feet, over my feet, through my legs- I feel like a walking cartoon sometimes. Don't get me wrong; I mostly love it, but do fear that I'm going to eventually trip, step on or otherwise have a close encounter that ends up with me groaning on my back and my animals scattered into their respective corners, at least until dinner time when they'd hover over me and say "get the fuck up and feed us".
My cats are two of the most social cats I've ever had, or ever known. But now, I may just change their names to "Velcro 1" and "Velcro 2". If Dr. Seuss was alive, no doubt he'd be interested in their rights, and put them into the Cat in the Hat sequel. The minute my butt hits a chair, which is often, it's like they have a Pavlovian (Catlovian?) response and come running into the room to try and gain access to my lap. Now this might sound cute and all, and I know people have cats who never leave the closet or under a bed, but it gets exhausting trying to fend off lap intruders when you actually need to do something. Or just want your lap to yourself. Or don't want tiny sharp claws kneading your thighs, or worse, your groin. Not that I'm using that for anything these days. Well, you know what I mean. And sleeping. No, I don't ever sleep alone, being the studly, only man of the house that I am (my brood is decisively female). The cats, once again, jockey for position on my body. Maggie almost always sleeps in the crook of my right arm. Mitzy tends to sleep on my chest, as close as possible to my head- the better so her extremely long whiskers brush my face. It's all very romantic as you can imagine. Jada usually takes the comfy chair in my room, and Ginger the dog bed. But they mix it up; sometimes on my bed, Ben or Aliza's bed, my office bay window. We're all in the doghouse together.
And now through the magic of words, we fast forward to April 27, 2020
It's prescient that I'm writing this on what would've been Abby's 59th birthday. Wasn't my plan, just inertia, lack of words, stalling, that I've gone so long without a post. So I guess it's fitting I'll end up posting this today. These "anniversaries" of special dates are always difficult, especially in the beginning. Am I supposed to mourn? Celebrate? Feel remorse? Have that "cheerio" positive attitude? Yes to them all I guess. These days are the visual equivalent of an EKG machine - up and down up and down up and down- I guess it tells me that I'm still alive and breathing, and that may be the only positive thing I can take from this day. I find myself thinking about all the things I wish I could say to Abby; all the things I wish I had said while she was still alive, and all the things I said while she was alive that I wish I hadn't said. "Life's too short" is absolutely true, but on days like today, I feel like life's too long. I know that's a terrible thing to feel, let alone express out loud. But with the wind and rain howling and the gloom outside, it's almost hard not to feel that way (BTW- this has been a pretty weather-shitty April, even by New England standards).
We do need to allow ourselves to have bad days, whatever that constitutes for each of us. The key is to make sure the number of good days outpace the bad ones. I picture Fenway's scoreboard, with bad days on top and good days on the bottom (good days have to be the home team and have last-at-bats ), except the scoreboard not only goes into extra innings, it just goes on and on until you lose track and have to just go by your gut as to who's winning (luckily, they don't cut off alcohol after the top of the 7th). It's a game of minutia for sure, where the smallest thing can change the day in your favor, or turn it upside down. Ball goes through Buckner's legs, or Roberts steals second. Defeats and victories. And today is what I will call a rain out. Usually there's no win/no loss, and the game is played later. But today still feels like a big giant loss to me.
Now that I've run out of baseball metaphors, which I'm sure you're all very relieved about, I'll try and get through the day the best I can- the best that anyone in my position can. As Abby would say "just put one foot in front of the other". I'm going to do that, even if it feels like someone tied my laces together. You most likely won't see me today due to social distancing, but if you do and I seem unsteady on my feet, you'll know why. Of course it could be the Tito's- after all, it's 5 o'clock somewhere. And Abby would be ok with that. Miss you honey- have a great day, and don't forget to say hello.
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