It’s early, before 6am.
The sky is just starting to lighten, shade by imperceptible shade, slowly, maybe every ten minutes being subtly different.
I’m in bed on my phone, writing this. I don’t really have a solid idea what I’m going to write about but I know it’s loosely something about how, at the moment, things are stressful and uncertain and the ways that makes me feel.
But that feels almost too much, like writing about it will only come off as complaining. Truthfully, we’re doing pretty well. We remain healthy, we can pay bills, we have close family we get to be with regularly.
I think maybe it’s that duality that is hard. What are we doing? Are we still hiding-out from this very real thing, or are we sending the kids back to school in January? Are we going to restaurants? Should I be back in the office?
Things that one minute seem to have clear unequivocal answers, and the next not so much. I feel inconsistent, undecided, even flighty. We wear masks, I don’t think we take unnecessary risks, but we’re definitely not as steadfast as we were in March.
It feels hard to have black and white, and I struggle in the grey. It’s not just COVID, stress in general is high. Stress at work, stress at home, plus a kind of corporate, global stress.
I yelled at Keaton yesterday, and I really dislike yelling at my kids. Sharaun and I bicker when we shouldn’t. I’m grumpy when I shouldn’t be.
Gotta get right. Gotta be better than all this, rise above. C’mon Dave. Get right.
Also written on this day...
- you mean like in the toilet? - 2018
- a milkshake from another girl's yard - 2009
- George Foreman is a dirty liar - 2007
- ashes to pheonix - 2004
- i'm not a rockafella like you - 2003