I am trying to journal on the computer because typing is easier than writing by hand, and because I feel like I have more to record than I can reasonably write by hand.
Today I am planning a garden. I am planning a garden, but I am also arranging a home office space. I am planning a garden and arranging an office space, but I am also cleaning the sun room, and I am also catching up on chores.
The chores, which I haven’t done this week because I haven’t been able to sleep so I haven’t been getting up when I want to in the morning. The chores I haven’t done, because I’ve been prioritizing my fragile seedling of a yoga and meditation practice, and also preparing for my new job.
The new job, which feels like an incredible blessing in this (awful, terrible, no good very bad) time.
The sun room, which needs cleaning because it has become the space to put all non-refrigerated groceries for a day or so after we pick them up so they can decontaminate.
The home office space, which I need for the new job, which almost makes me feel half guilty, and is certainly causing some cognitive dissonance, for having this good fortune at a time when everything else has packed itself into the proverbial hand basket and set off for warmer climes.
The new job, which means I need to rearrange my desk area so that I can sit with my back to the wall for Zoom meetings. There will be a lot of Zoom meetings. “Dear employees, our offices are now closed through the end of June. Thank you for your understanding in this difficult time as we continue operations remotely…”
Guilty, conflicted, but grateful. So, so grateful. Plus I’ll have time for the garden.
The garden, which I am planning because I want a garden, because I want to spruce up the messy spaces in our yard, but also because I am worried about food.
I’m not worried that we’ll starve or even go hungry. But I am worried that prices will climb, that we won’t be able to find things that are good or fresh or our favorite, that things will continue being too dangerous for us to go and get those things.
I’ve always wanted a nice garden anyway, and it will make our yard even lovelier to spend time in than it already is.
I can picture myself, yoga mat spread on the grass, surrounded by leafy vegetables and green herbs, as content as Peter Rabbit in Mr. McGregor’s garden. Before Mr. McGregor spotted him, that is. And so I too will be content, until my thoughts wander into the net, each worry and sadness caught in its weave like the buttons on Peter’s blue jacket. Until I remember that I can not be anywhere else.
