...trying to start a post.
I'm surviving, but I'm not doing well.
Collectively, the US has decided that since it can't coordinate a response, the only way out of this mess is straight through the meat grinder. Lockdowns are partially lifted, infections are spiking, but there's no going back now. Our best hope appears to be to get in line, get it while there's still hospital capacity, and survive.
So here we are, four months in, with no answers and no firm date to look forward to. (Except haircuts, allegedly coming July 13th.)
It's hard to write about how I feel, because the overwhelming dread has been replaced with a numbness, interspersed with random crying jags. It feels like those nightmares where you're running away from something, but the harder you run, the stickier and more gelatinous the ground gets, until you're exhausting yourself to move at all and the thing you're running from is catching up behind you and...
I'm told that this exhaustion is called "allostatic load". It sucks in normal times, but I think it's really starting to wear on me doubly around now.
Housing is scary. My landlords went from shitty-but-sure-whatever, to hostile over the course of a few weeks. We're now looking to buy a place. This is not *decreasing* my stress level by any means.
I find myself getting into an anxious-avoidant media consumption loop, and it's sapping my productivity which increases my anxiety. I feel like I need more time off and I feel guilty about it, which makes me feel bad, and I feel bad for feeling bad; whenever I start having meta feelings you know it's becoming a problem.
Work is... work? We're hiring a "lead writer" which... I can't even describe the fear that goes into this process. We're trying to work while the US slowly collapses into a fascist regime and it often feels like polishing the brass on the Titanic, but possibly also looking into a deck cannon.
I should stop there and try to get some sleep. My circadian rhythms are entirely shot, and I'm worried I could be getting sick.
