Postcards From The Edge: Quarantine Randomness

Every Friday night for the last couple of months, a friend of my boyfriend’s roomate’s has been organizing a (very well-produced) Zoom trivia night, in which 10-20 teams answer questions from various categories. I love trivia, and I’m very competitive, so for the most part it’s been a fun distraction. Of the teams who usually show up to compete, we are the strongest and most consistent, but somehow had continually been coming in second every week instead of first (the same guy had beat us several times, and I’m convinced he was cheating). But finally, last week, we took first, and tied for first again this week. That was gratifying.

My best friend forgot to call me on my birthday, which I took very badly. I love her dearly but she’s not the most reliable person in the world, and living in a foreign country where she knows basically no one has made her particularly self-involved. In general I think I am very low maintenance when it comes to relationships, especially with my friends, but I absolutely expect, at the very least, a happy birthday message from the closest people in my life, of which there are not that many. I don’t think that is asking a lot. My best friend had forgotten my birthday once before, many years ago, and we got into quite a fight about it, such that she’s made a meaningful effort never to forget again. But, this year she did. I was hurt and I was pissed. Probably immature but I was. She realized the mistake two days later and was immensely, appropriately apologetic so I forgave her because what else was I supposed to do. I’d already made the difficult decision to let it go before she even called, which feels like some sort of progress. I’m not a forgiving person, it’s one of my worst qualities, and I’ve cut people out of my life who perhaps I shouldn’t have many times before because they hurt me, and they weren’t sorry, or weren’t sorry enough, and I didn’t forgive them because they didn’t deserve it and I didn’t want to. But I can’t do that with her. She’s too important to me. But times like this make me tremendously sad because they are stark reminders we are not as close as we once were, or as I would like to be still. She’s my oldest friend, and we are still extremely close, and I don’t have with anyone else the relationship I have with her. But, we live very different lives now. And she’s not the closest person in my life the way she once was. Others have taken that place. And that’s not a bad thing, it’s not something I should be sad about, but it is. C’est la vie.

A lot of people give me shit for living in the part of New York I do, and sometimes I let that bother me, but usually not, especially right now because by comparison to the rest of New York it’s a really nice place to be quarantined. There are trees and grass and parks and animals, secret gardens, a well-maintained riverfront, gorgeous city views. And it’s clean and it’s quiet and it suits my needs better than any other neighborhood I could afford to live in would. You can’t have everything in New York. But living here, I have enough.

I’ve gotten very fat in quarantine, fatter than I’ve been in years, and am pretty much disgusted by the sight of myself so I’m starting a three day juice cleanse tomorrow and plan to follow that up with a much more restrictive diet than I’ve recently been adhering to. I’ve always struggled with my weight, but when sufficiently motivated I’ve been able to lose what I’ve wanted to. Hopefully I can do that again. But I loathe exercise as much as I ever have so hopefully a minimal amount of that combined with dieting will be effective enough.

I’ve been taking long walks as often as I can to force myself to get out of the house. I’ve watched a resident brood of about 20 goslings grow up over the past couple of months. It’s been nice.

I’ve been feeling frustrated with myself that I haven’t written more (at all) during quarantine, the perfect time to really focus on that and be productive. But the amount of anxiety I’m experiencing on a daily basis renders me incapable of accomplishing much of anything. I do the bare minimum at work. I spend way too much time scrolling. I watch a lot of TV and movies, most of which I can only half-pay attention to. I haven’t finished a single book in months. I just don’t have the energy or the focus on anything. And I guess that’s okay given the circumstances but also it’s not because no one ever got anywhere in life by being lazy and letting anxiety and depression debilitate them and if I really want what I purport to want as badly as I purport to want it I need to work a little harder and get my shit together.

Survivor 40 = Enjoyed it overall but disappointing.

I wish I was closer with my family than I am. I wish I was rich so I could see them more and actually do fun, memorable things with them, especially my grandmother, before I won’t have that chance anymore.

My other grandmother has completely succumbed to Alzheimer’s and has no idea who I am or who she is or who just about anyone is at this point, which is something that has been slowly happening for years and that I haven’t really dealt with because it’s too sad and upsetting and I don’t know how.

Dyed my hair for the first time in years because I had the dye and was bored. The thrill is gone. Don’t think I’ll do it again.

Mixed feelings about the Drag Race finale but ultimately, upon reflection, feel the right winner was crowned.

I’m afraid of so many things.

My bosses have been making us do Zoom happy hours once a week, which are annoying but actually fine and the social interaction is probably good for me. Sometimes they give us prompts or assignments to steer the conversation so we’re not just making awkward small talk for an hour and last week the activity was me conducting an interview with one of our paralegals (highly random but I went with it). It was kind of weird but ultimately fine and made me remember that I once seriously considered going into journalism. I think I would have been good at it.

I obsess about my relationship constantly and wish I could stop. It’s not perfect but it’s good. He’s not perfect but he’s a good partner and a good person and I love him and we make each other happy. I don’t know why it should be any more complicated than that but it is. Maybe I just make it more complicated by obsessing and I shouldn’t. I don’t think it’s that though. He put together an IKEA desk for me the other day, that was pretty great. He made me a cake for my birthday (three days late, but whatever). We had sex in the shower on Friday night, I’ve never done that before and didn’t really have much desire to. It was kind of awkward but I didn’t not like it and he was very into it. He has a thing with water. We’ve already had sex in a pool and multiple hot tubs. His birthday is on Saturday and he wants to have a small party with several of his closest friends (all alcoholics). I am already planning how I am going to get out of it.

Been having headaches, popping Excedrin like M&Ms.

It’s hot in New York. I’m glad I don’t have to commute every day. My air conditioner is running constantly and I’m worried it is going to break from exhaustion.

I can’t believe it is June already.

Have surprisingly been sleeping mostly well but having a lot of strange and intense dreams.