Binge Watching

I’m still in my flannel pajamas. I’ve already had coffee and breakfast. I’m moving on to lunch. I’ve been binge watching my Spanish TV show all morning because the booster shot ran me rough shod. I feel like I’ve just gone through the washer and dryer. My head is about to explode, my body aches all over and I have waves of chills that come and go.

I’m supposed to be getting on a plane to Barcelona tomorrow with two dear girlfriends. We’ve been planning this trip for months. I’m going, in part, to celebrate my upcoming sixtieth birthday. They are getting on that plane.

I’m not.

So, not only am I binge watching because the booster shot kicked my ass, I’m in part, having my own little pity party. It’s not a full blown party, just a tiny “poor me” party that I’m not going to Spain tomorrow with my friends. Nothing like the rager pity parties of the past.

And, mind you, this is all of my own volition. It’s not like my friends said, “You can’t come anymore.” No, I did a risk evaluation a few weeks ago. Omicron was peaking in the US, Europe’s infection rates were on the rise. People were getting stuck at borders. International flights worldwide had been canceled. People got stuck abroad. For weeks. Oh, and my house-sitter-friend isn’t available to stay on.

I noticed anxiety had replaced excitement about the trip. 
Anxious I’d get stuck in Spain.
That my elderly dogs would be left with no care.
That I wouldn’t be able to teach my upcoming immersion.
That I’d have to shell out more cash to stay in some Barcelona hotel, and just stare at the walls.

I checked in with friends in Europe to get the on-the-ground-report. “Stay home,” was the overarching message.

Stay home.

My inner pre-teenager had a moment. “I don’t want to stay home. I want to go with my friends. It’s not fair. I don’t have anyone here to help me. I want to go. I want to go. I want to go.”

Shortly after this internal outburst, my nearly-sixty-year-old took over. “It’s ok, Diane. Spain will be there. Your friends will be there. This will not be the last time you three will do something together. You need to stay put. You know you do.”

When I made the decision, when I felt it in my body, I relaxed. I could feel my stomach soften, my shoulders released and my breath deepened. That’s when I knew I’d made the right decision. 

But today, a day before the scheduled departure date, feeling like shit, still in my pajamas, I’m binge watching, listening to Spanish, getting a glimpse of Madrid. This is the closest I’ll get to Spain right now. Like a good adult, I wished my friends a wonderful trip.

At least I’m not feeling guilty for binging. Last year’s six months of long-haul COVID taught me to relax into it and watch TV in the middle of the day. In the morning for that matter, because guess what? I couldn’t DO anything else. The virus had zapped me of all energy, my lungs burned for months and I depended on people to grocery shop, walk my dogs and pop by with a smile.

So, while this decision to stay is not what I wanted, I’ve learned, again, that life doesn’t always turn out the way we want it to and to find a way to relax into what’s here in front of us. Even if we have to have a tiny pity party for a moment.

Here’s a couple of things they don’t tell you about sheltering in place…

Here’s a couple of things they don’t tell you about sheltering in place…

They don’t tell you that your hair will be a wild beast to tame and that when you’re 6-7 weeks past your haircut appointment you won’t know what to do with the stragglers, the wild-will-of-their-own hairs that don’t listen or lay down when you want them to. They don’t tell you your roots will show, and your secret of highlighting will be let out.

They don’t tell you you’ll be wandering through your own kitchen looking for something. Even if you have healthy snacks on hand and good food to eat, most likely you’ll be grazing in your own food stalls more often than usual. You’ll be looking for a way to quell the feelings that come like ocean waves, one after the other, some little ripples on the surface and then every so often, a big, fat wave will take you down and tumble you and scrape you on the rocks and sand below. 

No, they don’t tell you about the tumbler waves. Like the one that took me down yesterday, had my heavy heart reaching for something in the cracker jar, the home-made chocolate jar, the almond butter jar. I wanted something to quell that feeling of aloneness. I wanted a hand to hold, a body to hug, someone’s sparkling eyes to gaze into and feel the life behind the pupils.

No, they don’t tell you that you will have to face your existential loneliness – that we come in alone and we go out alone and all the connections along the way are fleeting and passing.

When sheltering in place they don’t tell you that there will be no plumbers to come and help you and that eventually you’ll go online and google “How to clean my P-Trap” because your bathroom sink is clogged and the water isn’t draining. They don’t tell you you’ll be on your knees, unthreading the P-Trap, pulling the stopper out of the sink and cleaning the black slime from it. They don’t tell you how satisfied you’ll feel that you DID IT, all by yourself, with a little help from google and a friend on the phone.

They also don’t tell you how many families will be reuniting through ZOOM for the holidays – people in different countries spending Seders together, Easter dinners together, people who haven’t gathered in years. They don’t tell you your neighbors will offer to pick up things at Costco for you, that you’ll be getting snail mail with art and letters again. They don’t tell you that you’ll be avidly gardening, taking yoga and dance classes online and that there will be an explosion of creativity bursting in the world.

They don’t tell you that the Earth will get a break from all of the pollution we create, that the air will be clean and you’ll be able to breathe deeply. You’ll be able to see the Himalayas from hundreds of miles away. They don’t tell you there will be new verbs in our language – zooming, marcoing – and other new phrases – sheltering in place, social distancing. You’ll hear phrases like, “We took a socially distant walk,” which only 6 weeks ago would have sounded preposterous.

They don’t tell that you won’t want to return to “normal” and to the madness of driving and schlepping here and there and everywhere.

No, they don’t tell you it’s a wild ride staying at home, that the water is deep and the waves are steady. They don’t tell you you’ll have to let go, let your old self dissolve and wait for the new one to emerge.