In the Year of our Lord of COVID Issue #10: nothing’s changed; nothing could be wrong
Days in lockdown: 289
Mental status: slight manic spikes with bouts of rage
Christmas was completely and utterly underwhelming.
Every year I try to do something to make it festive where it may be trimming a tree or sending cards or hanging fairy lights or displaying the received cards around the condo.
This year I was so out of fucks for the holidays, every single gift to TEH was kept in its original shipping boxes. I couldn’t be half bothered to wrap said boxes. I’ve sent out nine holiday cards though I have a stack to go through to read and respond. Decorating seemed overwhelming and pointless.
I talked to The Best Kate, Kristin, and my brother and his fam. Texted my niece and nephew in Canada.
I went to my in-laws for gift exchange. I wore my mask the entire time. When I came home, I stripped and threw all of our clothes and coats in the washer to be washed on hot. I took scalding showers and sanitized everything.
Christmas dinner was lasagna, caesar salad, and garlic bread with German chocolate cake for dessert. I’ve been eating lasagna and cake for days.
I watched WW84.
I also started our yearly re-watch of Battlestar Galactica (2004). Starbuck is #goals.
That was pretty much it.
Happy holidays.
This was Friday.
I genuinely do not remember what I did Saturday and that was just one day ago.
My home office isn’t really set up for personal laptopping so if I want to laptop, I move about the condo to find someplace comfy. Today it’s at the breakfast bar where I’ve been sitting for nearly four hours.
I sat here to get out today’s newsletter but I find myself all over the place. I bought crap I probably don’t need, ate lunch (fucking lasagna) and my afternoon snack, did dishes, walked the dog, swapped cushions in the couch, thought heavily about doing chores but haven’t done any, found out how bad my Spotify taste is, and read a lot while discoursing with The Best Kate for the afternoon.
After I send this out, I’ll probably vacuum and then watch Bridgerton. Apparently, I am one of the few people in the world who is heavily invested in Regency era TV shows to just find out this show existed.
This is today.
Life in lockdown is boring, endless, unremarkable, and mundane. All my conversations begin about COVID, how we’re handling it, and what’s next. I’ve gained 10lbs and I know of people who’ve gained closer to 30. I know of only one person who has lost weight, 50lbs!, and fuck that bitch. (She’s nice. JK!)
Even my therapist and I talk about COVID and my mental stamina every session for at least 10 minutes. They have seen a spike in mental health concerns in their patients as well as more people with situational depression. I know a lot of happy and positive people. Now I can’t really name one who is feeling positive. COVID has sucked everything out of us, out of me, and I am constantly wondering if the spiked mania, rage (oh god the rage is back), and depression is the drugs not working, the time of year, or pandemic related. I laid on the bed today and told TEH I would give anything to leave the house. I proposed a hike next weekend, but he related he only likes to take walks when there are leaves on the trees. I may have to go alone.
My APRN bumped my Latuda up to 60mg starting a week and a half ago. I started that night with a 20mg and a 40mg and found relief for a few days. Then I spiked mania and rage again and I kept tabs to see when to text my APRN to have him call me back and that turned out to be Wednesday, the 23rd, less than a week after the dose increase. I missed his call that evening. He gave me strict instructions to call into the office on the 24th with a promise to return the call even though he was off.
I took a two-hour lunch on Xmas Eve to run an ungodly (six stops!) errands and my phone was glued to my palm. I was obsessive about making sure the ringer was pumped up. I kept checking recent calls and my texts to see if I had missed him or his office got back to me after the confirmation. As the day turned into evening, my phone was never more than a foot away from me.
He never returned my call.
My support system kept reminding me I was going to be OK. Was I in crisis? No, but my brain was turned on and I was all over the place. I am able to sleep but functioning when I was awake was difficult. It’s a repeat record to hear how self-aware and good I am at knowing where I’m at and being able to judge. But when I let my guard down and ask for help and I don’t get it, it causes even more of a problem in my brain of letting professionals in when I need them.
APRN has not let me down in the past and I’m sure there is a million reasons why they didn’t get back to me so I’m not THAT upset but it is still disappointing as fuck to be in a place you’re struggling with working in a functional manner and that support is not there.
I started the first few paragraphs in my head for a potential fiction book. I was so shocked at myself for coming up with the idea, I have been mentally pinching myself. Will this come to fruition? WHO KNOWS! But at least the mania is coming out to be something.
I dreamt last night George Clooney, who I find attractive, sure, but not my type, dumped his brilliant human rights lawyer wife, Amal, for me.
Latuda dreams are fucked up.
Sure, sure, whatever:
My hair was once blue. Now it is emerald green.
What I believe is always in flux but I love the weekly sermons of Nadia Bolz-Weber as her sermons speak to you no matter what you believe. I highly recommend subscribing to her Substack to get a bit of peace in the world
Pudding was not wrong on how bad my Spotify taste is
9th season of Letterkenny has dropped on Hulu. Pitter patter!
As always, don't be an ass. Wear a damned mask.
lisa x
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Image depicting the black death in a book by French chronicler
and poet, Gilles Li Muisis (1272 - 1352). Artist unknown.