And... It's Getting Worse...

I've been trapped at home now for a month. This is what I've done. I retiled the front hall, installed a toilet seat, painted the bathroom ceiling, installed a clothesline, upgraded the sd card in my phone, walked, ran, cooked, made hand soap from bar soap, made homemade jewelry cleaner and cleaned and organized all my jewelry. I planted bulbs, cleared brush, built two separate shelving units, rearranged the bedroom, the pantry and the storage unit. I digitized poetry, consolidated 30 years worth of journals, finished writing poetry fragments, wrote an article for the newspaper I work for, played multiple games of Scrabble with my mom. I painted rocks, took a class on childhood trauma, took a class on art journaling, listened to a webinar on resilience, participated in wisdom school, read books, practiced yoga and meditation, binge watched a tv show, worked on my novel and took up embroidery.

I feel like I haven't accomplished anything at all.

The other night, I was drinking wine. No problem. Felt a nice little buzz. Most people just settle for stumbling or drunk texting an ex. Not me. I enrolled in a micro masters degree program. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?! 

 

Why am I so good at doing and really bad at just being? I have introvert friends, whose lives have not changed all that much with the pandemic. I, on the other hand am a hot mess. I keep having this nightmare about going into a room and turning around to find that the doorway has been replaced with a rock wall. I'm trapped. 

I have always done something I refer to as the dervish. (Google "whirling dervishes. They're pretty neat). Anyway, in the midst of chaos or unhappiness or stress, I figure if I can just spin fast enough, I can cope with whatever. 

This pandemic has revealed my use of busyness as a coping skill and I'm not sure that's a good thing. But I'm also not sure I know how to be still.