small hopes

Well, at least now that it’s March the rainy non-wintry mornings won’t strike me as acutely with the awareness that the planet is dying.  It’s still dying, but I can more safely ignore it, and so human laziness wins again.

Not feeling particularly well today - this virus appears to be dragging its way through my body still like some kind of congestion-inducing zombie, and my stomach hasn’t felt great the last couple of days.  Probably nerves - actually investing in my job has its disadvantages.

(Teach us to care and not to care. Teach us to sit still.)

But the thought of better living accommodations has a perking effect that bolsters me through the loudness of the upstairs neighbors and the length of the bus commute.  I keep thinking, Four more months.  Just four more months. 

I will have a life again.  I won’t know what to do first.  It’ll be the homebody nerd equivalent of rolling in a pile of cash and giggling.  Do I play piano all evening? Do I read? Do I run around naked in honor of not having a roommate?  Do I cook everything in my fridge?  Do I work on my magnum opus?  Maybe I can do them ALL AT ONCE. 

So exciting.

So, that infuses the daily grind with a sense of upcoming relief, and takes some of the edge off the growing national disasters. 

Also it’s daylight now - soon I will ride down Woodward Avenue in a bus that does not have to tunnel its way through darkness.  Makes the heart lift.