checking in

Blog Post 45.

I won’t go for a run today. It is once again snowing in Denver. April 16th. I have been running a lot lately; so much so that I know I am starting to develop shinsplints in my right leg. Maybe this snow is a good thing. It’s forcing me to find other ways to fill my time for a day.

A run used to be something that I would squeeze into my schedule early in the morning or in the evening if I had a spare forty minutes. Now it is the big event of the day, around which I plan all the other little events that (thank God for them) help me pass the time even though time is not now what it once was. The only reason I know the date is April 16th is because I checked the calendar to ensure it was strange for there to be snow today.

I had a difficult time getting out of bed this morning. Everyday I wake up at 7:20. I’ve read that routine is good and that successful people wake up early. Not that 7:20 is particularly early, but when days are empty, I feel it is commendable to get started on them within an hour of sunrise. Today I opened the blinds to the snow and thought about all the things I don’t have to do. I surfed Instagram, then Snapchat, then challenged Madi Baca to a virtual game of mancala. I answered an early spam call just to entertain myself. I stared at my wall- white, devoid of decoration because I don’t like fuss in my bedroom. No class today. No run. The living room needs to be organized but I have all day to handle that. Maybe I’ll do some yoga later.

Eventually I did get out of bed. And I’m glad I did because the coffee this morning was exceptional. I have begun rearranging things on this website again, which feels good. It was getting dusty and looking back on bits of what I was thinking and feeling in the past is illuminating. Oddly enough, I find resemblance between some of the lonesomeness I am experiencing now and that which I experienced over a year ago when I was living in Europe. These brands of lonesomeness are distinct, certainly, but clearly related. They come to me from right next to one another.

What usually gets me out of bed is the pressure I feel the instant I open my eyes to fulfill the obligations of the day. I call this good stress. It has made me an exceptionally productive young person. This type of stress is almost entirely lost to me right now. I have very little control over things I typically feel rather in-control of. I am quite anxious about the future. I am not depressed, I know that at least. But I do feel sad often. And in some ways I feel apathetic toward things that want to continue moving in my life. Conversely, the things I want to move don’t seem to budge no matter how hard I push them.

This time is a paradox of quotidian inertness and pervasive havoc and each day is almost tiresome though I barely expend enough energy throughout one to fall asleep naturally at the end of it (an issue I have never had).

I am reading a very good book right now. It is called The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. An acclaimed novel. The story is the product of a tragic event and her writing is a marvelous balance of cynical humor and psychological imagery (she does well with physical imagery as well). Books have always been an escape for me. This, at least, remains constant still today.

A week ago (it could have been more than that but I tried to think of what day it was and couldn’t for the life of me recall) I cut a sizable piece off the pad of my left index finger so practicing the guitar, piano or horn have been basically a non-option of late. On the bright side, the finger is almost healed. On the bright side the knife was sharp so the cut was clean. On the bright side I can still sharpen the knives- another activity to pass some time every few days.

I recently sat in the backyard (it was drenched in warmth and mid-morning sun then) and decided to check in with myself. I’d been feeling as distant from her as from every other person I care deeply for. I made a long list of very honest statements. I won’t be sharing those here now, though eventually they will be replaced by statements more honest in the future and I will feel comfortable sharing them as a retrospect.

Anyway, this isn’t the brightest smattering of words I’ve shared here, but it is hopefully honest. I believe it serves to document April 16th, 2020 in a way more permanent than my memory (that flighty thing!) would be able to. Even these moments are worth revisiting.