Newman!

Remember those moments during Seinfeld when Jerry would suddenly recognize some odd or terrible going on was the work of his nemesis neighbor Newman? That's me recognizing a spell with depression and anxiety. It's to be expected given the wear and tear of the last few weeks and quickly approaching overseas departure. I guess I've been a little bit in denial about my excessive desire to shelter in place and mounting personal clutter, a hallmark of my particular brand of mental rhinovirus.

I got up and at 'em this morning, fixed a big breakfast, did a load of laundry, ran the dishwasher, walked the dog, and then went back to bed for 3 hours. I just get so tired. Maybe it's the seasons changing as many people seem to be complaining of grogginess but given the state of play in my house, it's probably a mental blue screen of death that makes it hard to get anything started indoors, and really, really, really, does not want to venture out into all the humanity that comes out over the weekend to accomplish the same chores we all save for the weekend.

Because I was at the point were all my easy meal solutions had been exhausted and I had been compelled to eat barely seasoned mustard chicken strips and tater tots last night, I ventured out today. It was awful. So many damn people. So many people it is impossible to faithfully execute your grocery list because people are in the way at every stop. I was in front of a woman in line who was on broadcast with all her thoughts and musings. She had a toddler and a husband with her but if I had not turned around, I could have easily believed she was by herself. The baby barely talked and the husband understood how to use his library voice to speak to someone mere inches from his face. It would have been so satisfying to ask her why she was a: trying to teach her barely-speaking-English-toddler French when it was obvious she was in no way from France and there are far more relevant languages to expose a child to in the U.S., like, I don't know Spanish/Arabic/Mandarin/English? and b: why she needed to use her broadcast voice to ask her daughter questions in French (that the little girl did not answer or seem to understand because I suspect Mommy only pulls this shit in public in long lines so she has an audience). I caught myself actually clenching my jaw.

I got home and sat in the car again, not ready to start in on the chore of putting away groceries and walking the dog. I finally came in, did the needful, walked the dog miserable and tired of walking the dog. I was ready for bed again but I stayed up and watched several episodes of Storage Wars-a show I have never seen before today and not likely to tune into again. Now it's 1 am and I'm all set to repeat today's cycle.

Newman...