I’m a rebel.
Actually, no, I’m self-destructive. One of the MANY things I’ve learned about myself during this reacquaintance with me. I set goals, and then I do my very best not to achieve them.
My mom tells me I’ve “grown more beautiful” since Qunemployment started, which I find ironic because I’ve only worn makeup twice in the past 54 days – once to my grandmother’s funeral, and then again a week later for my birthday. These past few weeks have felt somewhat surreal. I have none of the normal stresses – no work, no commute, no traffic, no friends pulling me in different directions to parties and gatherings (which are literally illegal right now for groups larger than 10). These are weird, weird times. And yet, the stranger things keep getting the more normal – the more myself – I feel.
Did you know that Oprah and Ellen are allegedly under house arrest for sex trafficking at this very moment? I didn’t either. Apparently a pandemic will do that to news – cover it up before it catches wind and spreads like rapid fire. In fact, if you Google this situation (much of what I spent last night doing) you will find numerous articles about these allegations being a “hoax” or a “conspiracy theory”, and how shame on us for making poor Oprah…
<Insert eye roll here, please – I have no patience for celebrity privilege>
…tweet that it’s fake news at 2:15 in the morning one day. But you’ll also find photos of Oprah donning a cast on her right foot (from a tumble she took on stage in March after which continued her speech and then walked off the stage). And of starry eyed Ellen at home, always in sweatpants and sitting cross legged with her right ankle tucked underneath.
Supposedly – and if you believe the… malarkey?… they aren’t the only ones. In, er, not fact, a trip down the YouTube rabbit hole will reveal that Hollywood is basically a big group of pedopheliacs who run sex trafficking rings and drink the blood of children to stay attractive and serve their leader who is obviously Satan (duh). This all sounds absolutely ridiculous, I know. Except that if you Google it you will again find a bunch of pictures and an alignment of observations and happenings that make it all just the tiniest bit believable. I mean, it was only a year ago that we learned about Jeffery Epstein’s Orgy Island. And if Orgy island could… nope, DID… exist, then why couldn’t another rich, high profile personality be running a devil worshipping pizzagate ring on his – or her (power to the she, ladies) – own weird island?
I promise you this all gets so, so much weirder but I won’t spare you the sleepless intrigue of investigating for yourself.
So back to me. Why on earth do I feel more normal now after almost two months away from everything that used to be the very definition of that term for me?
Because I’ve been able to T H I N K.
I’ve been able to research and Google whatever I’m interested in to my heart’s content. I’ve been able to stay up late and sleep in during the morning. I’ve cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner numerous days in a row. I’ve finished one book, read another and started a third. I’ve taken 50+ fitness classes. I’ve help raise close to $10K for a non-profit and build them a content marketing plan. I’ve nurtured my relationship with my boyfriend and rekindled one with my dog. I’ve mourned the loss of my grandmother and felt celebrated on my birthday. All without feeling rushed or distracted.
These last few weeks, where time has almost quite literally stood still, I’ve finally felt human again.