Strange days

The limits of written discourse are clear here. There is really no effective way to convey how I feel typing this out in tiny characters on my phone at 5 am.

The house is quiet. All I can hear is the dripping of the faucet.  This has been a strange week and I am in a strange mood. I've had a rock made up of anxiety and fear in my stomach all week. I feel as if I am in a nightmare of a fairy tale and swallowed a poison apple whole.

When things happen of a historic nature, I don't think we can always process them as historic. All of the shocking and horrifying moments on Wednesday, January 6th, felt surreal. They felt like the plot of a bad Netflix show. Yet, they were our moments. History in the making to use a cliche. And us, all of us, sat staring at our televisions in our small pandemic lockdown worlds. You might have even ordered a pizza or downed a beer. I just sat there. Mute. Transfixed.

It's hard, even days later, to reconcile the events. They seem not quite real. Did that really happen is a question we might even ask ourselves in the future. 

Yes, it did. It really happened.

Everything still just seems so unsettled. With the transition looming, I still worry for our country. 

The one thing I realized this morning is that this last year since March has been a long car ride of worries. It's as if we are on a train to somewhere unknown. And as I lay here, I think to myself, I hope everything goes OK. By everything I mean the transition and inauguration as well as the pandemic and vaccine.

I'm sure that I, like all of us, just want this mess all to be over. I want to go back to the days pre-pandemic and pre Capitol riots when the world felt less chaotic and scary and not so tumultuous and unnerving. 

But I also realize that for many, especially for those less privileged than I, the world has always been this way.