goldmourn (amberdawnpullin) wrote,

it was the shortest year, it was the longest year and it wasn't over yet.

Saturday, August 1st, 2020.
I'm here.

I don't have to keep track on Spotify - I'm already doing that on - and so I will boldly open up my iTunes and listen to Philip Glass as I did before, without it showing on Spotify the accuracy of what music I am actually listening to - it's not for me to say that people who are truly curious should be looking at for the scrobbles, the digital record of what music I would play and replay and - no one cares about this but me and I should not either but it is a bit of that compulsion to keep track and it is exhausting.

Turned the fan off for the first time in days or even weeks so that I would have less noise as I try to do this and to hear the piano in the music more clearly. It is dark as I have no lights on save for the screen glow, mouse and keyboard. Glare light casts across to some books on a shelf nearby. I have my nightgown slung over the back of the chair. I am regretting the fan being off already.

I read someone else's online journal post and it was descriptive, vivid, a descriptive and personal account of recent events and a glimpse into their life at this time. For a moment, I miss the long form posts we all used to write and share. I remember how passionate I was then about opening up to others but also writing for myself. I don't know what that would be like now. Parts of me are shutdown in ways I never thought could happen. As though I now contain many locked boxes and the keys are scattered, disappeared. Was I fractured most last year or two years past? or was it each thing piled on the other over the years until now the pieces are just held in this vessel that holds what is declared to be me.

I have reached mature age. This is a mature age, isn't it? This number I became back on my birthday in July. That is how many years I am said to be. How many years I have been around for with no idea how many more. Most of us don't know when we will go but when young, you don't think you'll be this way when you get here. It makes you understand your parents more - to see they never knew what they were doing or what was going on - and I feel some more disappointment that they have ever extra years on me and likely that hasn't changed - and is that what it will be like for me too?

I am so lost but I know exactly where I am.

Early on in this online journal, I wrote about my relationships and health so candidly - dramatically, honest, open, real. Now, I'm afraid to open the seal.

To update life in general: living in the apartment in Toronto that I moved to back in 2017. I am here with the four cats - Vincent & Pekoe, Smudge & Chai - and the spouse is here too. I am thankful that we are doing okay - his income and my w.s.i.b. pension. We are able to shelter in place. The lockdown was lifted and so-called Stages of opening are happening but nothing has changed with the pandemic because a virus won't disappear just because some people say so. It's a bizarre resurgence of living in conditions where you're aware of the reality of the situation but it seems like those around you are in denial and make you feel like the crazy one as you point at the emperor, his parade, no clothes. By some chance ironic humour of the universe, I am able to continue existing the way I did before this specific tragic event began and so I am here, like I was before, only I will not go near that door anymore. I am not afraid. I am realistic. And most of the time, I feel or know at my core that I only have myself. Compromised state that I've been in, pre-existing conditions, mean that I must take care, even as I live with the careless, because I have four cats that need me to be.

I have had cats most of my adult life and they give me reason to keep going. Nothing else does.

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