Inner Doodles

Dreams are getting stranger and stranger. The stress of social distancing, global deaths, and lack of jobs intertwines in bizarre ways. We are fine, but as an empath, I tend to let it all in to bleed out through my subconscious. ~ I was back at the school and we were slammed. Phone call after phone call to find the children who couldn't make it back to class. Were they at work with their mothers or at home without a ride? Did they have lunch? Did they need new clothing and is there enough in our bin to supply to those in need? I looked at my schedule and there was no way I would make it in time to my reading group. I was still manning the cafeteria. Putting out fires between stressed out coworkers and upset children whose oranges were moldy and who were being overcharged by kitchen staff.* I walked briskly up the winding staircase and found myself in a living room. It was poorly lit, bright blue carpet and there were piles of books and knickknacks in all corners of the house...

(A by-the-way-this-also-happened-in-Week-9-but-was-unrelated-to-Gradschool-Black-Hole side note) Our feline companion's ear has gotten worse. We had to find a facility that would take him and allow us to remain in the car. The drive-through veterinarian was not an experience I ever thought I'd have in this life time. Chief Mate and I took the expedition together. He had not left the neighborhood in ... (blank thought bubble) ... let's just say, quite some time. I was beginning to think he may not remember what it feels like to sit in a car. Getting Oliver in the carrier was not easy. After three failed attempts to shove the beast through the tiny door (how did Oliver get so big??) and Chief Mate laughing hysterically, I tried putting treats in the back of the crate. But it was too little too late and Oliver was far from dumb. He made sure to give me a side-eye and silent meow in protest of my feeble effort. We had to take the crate apart and rebuild it around him. ...

As I sit in front of the fan trying in vain to dry the beads of humidity pooling in my pores, let me recount the events of the past week. Some are most pleasant, others, excruciating, and all kept me from the daily log. Let us begin with the Mother's Day that was, but then wasn't as it was supposed to be. The plan was to have breakfast twice.  Round One: eggs, made by Co-Captain Dad because I would inevitably sleep in and starve the crew if they were forced to wait.  I knew there was a good chance that I would miss first breakfast all together, but it was a risk I was willing to take. Sleeping in is divine.  Round Two: buttermilk pancakes from scratch with maple sausage, made by Me after I stirred from my slumber.  But this round would not come to pass on Mother's Day...  Day 56 (Mother's Day) I yawned and stretched and a cute little bouncing face appeared in my periphery.  "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom," Everything was still fuzzy a...

Time has slowed. Molasses Minutes stretch and I acutely remember what it was like being a child. The top three slowest moments of my life resurface. And linger. The Molasses Minutes of 1986  Standing in the Eternal Line at the Post Office.  The rope that separates customers is blue and soft. Velvet, like my favorite fancy red dress that I can only wear on Christmas. I hope to stop growing so I can wear it every year. Except I also want to keep growing so I can be taller than Mom.  "Stop playing with the rope," Mom fusses.  It clangs when I give it a push. The vibration shoots up the rope to the copper metal clip that holds the rope to the metal pole. Clang. "Stop it." Mom looks around at the other customers. "How much longer?" I ask. "Five minutes," she says. "At most ten." I look at the giant clock on the wall. It has already been ten minutes. I watch the red second hand pass the 8. Two, three, four, five. The 9....

All Things Beautiful Chalk on the sidewalk Frogs on doors Mushrooms peeking out A vacuumed floor Words between neighbors Lack of cat poo A hug from your child Moss covered shoes (please post something that is beautiful to you on this blog post!) END TRANSMISSION

Admiral Grandma is taking us to the zoo. Me and Chief Mate and Commander Cousin. The windows are open and there isn't much traffic. It feels amazing to have the breeze on my skin. The sky is orangey, like a soothing sherbet sunset. It has been ages since we have gone out anywhere. I have a strange feeling, like we aren't supposed to leave the house. I ignore my gut and snake my hand around in the wind. The parking garage is ominous. Always is. But it's the cleanest I've ever seen. A fresh coat of cool gray paint makes the floor smooth and inviting. I keep an eye out for lurking bizarros in the corner. My mom taught me to always keep my senses alive in a parking garage. We arrive at the hotel lobby and there are all of the other Admiral Grandparents standing around waiting. They have refreshments. The hotel bellhop arrives and I suddenly remember why we aren't supposed to be going anywhere. He starts to cough. We need to leave. "I think we ought to go back ho...

My eyes fight to stay open. Days of computer screen are taking their toll. "Mom." The second grade Physical Education class we completed together last night has my body begging to drift back into dreamland. "Mom." The fuzzy blanket, still soft because I rarely let Sweaty Boy use it, invites me to stay for five more minutes. "Mom." Drool pools at the corner of my mouth and I don't move to wipe it. Nothing matters in this new world of home-hygiene. "Mom." Something with lots of hair lands in my face. In one split second my brain recognizes that the hair in my eyes, nose, and ear is more stiff and straight than my own hair. Chief Mate does not have such hair. I snort awake annoyed. "What the??" Rainbow Dash's bright eyes and bushy tail mock me. "Bud, please don't throw things in my face." "It's time to wake up." Happy Saturday. END TRANSMISSION

As we now get closer to the two-month mark, I wish I could say things are stabilizing. We remain as lost and detached as ever. Floating in a void that is this new planet with all emotions living on the edges of our sleeves. Fraying and escalating at the slightest prompt. Simple commands like, "Eat your peas," cause an eruption like never before. News such as, "High winds and possible power outages," leaves me limp. I pull the blanket tighter and refuse to get out of bed until there are only minutes left before I need to make myself presentable to the Zoom world. These logs are starting to loop and repeat as do the days. Monotony is the new rhythmic norm. Chief Mate shakes me from my spiral. "Let's go outside!" I don't hesitate. Not for a second. Chalk in hand, we draft tags. Keep calm and chalk on. END TRANSMISSION

I've been wracking my brains all day trying to think of an appropriate topic for today's log. But there is only one thing that keeps coming back to my mind. It is truly too horrific to speak of and yet it plagues me. I feel it is my duty to inform you of this morning's events because you may one day face a similar situation. I believe it is my duty to warn you so that you can prevent such a thing from happening to you. Let me reassure you, it is preventable. But I must also warn you, this is not a post for the faint of heart. I was brushing my teeth, as I do every morning. Nothing unusual about it. Left side first, then right. Always the top first, then the bottom, then back to the top because I switched down to the bottom row too quickly. I work the brush over a big chunk of them at once instead of individually. I used to be more careful. I stopped counting teeth somewhere in my teens when stickler routine became tedious. I brushed my tongue because that's what someo...

I'm starting to get used to the oscillating weather. And I do love the way the rain shimmers on the kelly-green leaves. Rain or shine, I make my way outside now. If the animals can do it in their fur, I can grab an umbrella. I met a man on my walk. We had a conversation. A real live conversation. His image didn't glitch out. His voice didn't warble or chop itself into bits. We spoke and the sound waves traveled directly through the air from one person to the other. From six feet away. When it ended he gave me the most quizzical look and we each went on our way. Human contact. Interaction with people is rare these days. I'm afraid to have a conversation in the grocery store. Go in, collect needed items, go out. Don't dawdle. Don't breath on anyone. Only get what's on the list. Except for those windmill cookies. And the key lime pie. I don't feel human in the store. Everyone is plastic wrapped in their own little bubble and there is no human contact. Eve...

Time is thick and foggy, and yet there is somehow more stuff crammed into every moment than there ever was before. Usually that makes the day pass more quickly. Now it plods on. Multitasking takes on a new level. It is a skill necessary for survival. The monsters will eat you on this planet if you can't keep up. Work, family, sanity. Balance the wheel or the wheel will crush you. Self-preservation is key. I have found an archived document that accurately depicts my new way of life. It is hyperlinked below. In this scenario, I am represented by Jack Sparrow. Chief Mate is represented by Will Turner. And my work is the ever level-headed and authoritative James Norrington. Me Vs the Wheel of Life END TRANSMISSION

A deep vibration of a song emanates from the woods. The unmistakable sound of the great horned owl. Its call is both soothing and weighty. One swooped above my car once. It’s one thing to understand their size from books and a bit of imagination. It’s quite another to see one several feet above you. It could easily take our brute-of-a-cat at any time. The call and response of two owls becomes a song and dance. I am in bed. Covers over my head. I don’t want to Internet. I don’t want to Zoom. I can’t take another story about people who have no regard for other people’s health because they want someone else to cut their hair. Okay. I know it’s about more than that, though. I know it’s about people without jobs right now. They are scared about survival, too. They just want normalcy. We all do. It all breaks my heart. Mother, moon, magic, mystery, mythology. All associated with the owl. It is no wonder it was my grandmother’s favorite bird. I think about all of the animals on the plan...

The walls are suffocating once again. Irritation wears itself on my skin, in my hair follicles, in my aching heels. Why are my heels aching? Every need of every being around me feels grating. There's not enough food in the cat bowl. There aren't enough eyes on how I eat my cereal. But this guy can do this really neat trick. Why can't you put the kind of cat food I like in the bowl? Watch how these guys spin when you put them together like this! There's a dish on the table, are you done with it? I have a meeting in 5 minutes, so I can't help you log in, do you think you can do it on your own? Yes. No. I can't log in because you're logged in, Mom. 4 minutes until my meeting. My hair is a mess. I can see the bottom of my kibble bowl and it's a disgrace. Do I care if they see me disheveled? Everyone's hair is a mess. Mom, I can't log in. 2 minutes. Of course I care. Why is my hair frizzier when I'm at home? Or is it just that I have access to a m...

A black beetle crawled out of the mound of food that collects because our dear cat can't keep it in his mouth. Moist, partially masticated food is the perfect place for such an insect. He didn't appreciate my sweeping. I named him Alexander. I watched him walk away into the void under our kitchen cabinet. Alone. Without food. The hardest part in all of this is watching loved ones suffer and not being able to help. Sick family members are unable to eat homemade soup for fear of germs that may have been folded into the broth. A friend who desperately needs human contact is unable to answer the door to receive bear hugs. There is no more driving parents to the grocery store or to their routine visits to the doctor. Prescriptions for real life-threatening diseases are running out because idiots in charge are selling them as a false miracle cure. The list of can'ts goes on and on. But my intent is not to make anyone's situation harder than it already is. So, here is a list...

I threw out all of the pomegranate seeds. An almost-new package bursting with luscious seeds. I ate a handful of them on the first day of arrival and then promptly forgot about their existence until today. "Best By 4-14." Eh... What does a "Best By" date mean anyway? Usually you have another week before the food is spoiled. I rinsed them off just in case. Threw out a couple of suspect ones and then popped one in my mouth. The tangy and cold juice burst in my mouth. Delicious. Pomegranate seeds remind me of gushers, except they are probably more healthy. Do gushers still exist? I popped a couple more seeds in my mouth. Burst. Crunch. Squish. Not bad. "Best By" date is not always right. I palmed the remainder of ruby colored seeds into my mouth and squished into all of them at once. I could feel the pulse of prosperity permeating my mouth. That is what they symbolize, yes? Delicious -- No. Fermented. Ugh. What did I do? "Best By" date was not incor...

My back aches from the old metal swivel stool I am chained to. Finally got new orders from base. I am now required to spend 8 hours in front of the communication box. Several hours pass while studying glitchy training videos where my questions disappear into a void. Another hour or two is spent writing papers that analyze the process and purpose of thinking. My main points circle round and round themselves until I stand up to stretch. Oof. My back won't let me stand up straight. I much preferred the early exploration missions where I got to walk and sit and think my own meandering thoughts. Now my thoughts are being forced back into a standard formula. APA, to be precise. I ordered a new stool. It has a cushion and the seat rotates with your bum as you lean in any which way. It is a sit-stand style stool. Say that five times fast. We are spoiled, really. Ordering whatever we would like with the touch of a button. Who from the early 1900s would ever imagine such a thing? My grandm...

The word Importance carries a certain weight, or heft, if you will. Objects that have Importance can change throughout a lifetime, but the meaning of the word remains more or less unchanged. Our mission, to make it out alive, is Important because humankind is Important. Today I decided to create some art that was more or less Important. I say "more or less" because the Importance of Art is completely and relatively subjective. The Importance and Relevance of these Artworks is entirely representational of my feelings given the current state of World Events, including, but not limited to the shoddy quality of my photography. Audrey White (b. before the pandemic) Where, In Fact, the Sidewalk Actually Ends and the Gas Line Begins, 2020 Photograph Audrey White (b. before the quarantine) Dish-Less Sink With a Side of Dew, 2020 Dewy arugula on found sponge This is by far the most Important Artwork of the past 30 days. It Represents my Satisfaction of a Job We...

It has officially been over a month of tumultuous emotion, ever-changing news, rapidly changing lifestyles. I feel sea sick. Everything comes and goes. Like a slow pulse. The morning bleeds into yesterday bleeds into last week bleeds into - are we still keeping count? These logs are my only way to know the days anymore. If it were a hundred years ago, I suppose I would have notches on the wall. Now I have notches on The Cloud. The wind was angry today. I think it was trying to blow us out of our houses. If Aesop had taught him anything, the wind would know that a calming tactic is more persuasive. I watched the trees knock against themselves. I watched the sun shine and then quickly be replaced by rain pouring itself down in buckets only to be interrupted by the sun again. The weather could use some calming techniques. It left me feeling disjointed. Chief Mate helped anchor me back to reality. He made up a game. It was called Quest. It involved detailed labels of care instruction...

I can’t help but notice that the number of days on the log are the same as a certain Danny Boyle film. I imagine chimp-virus zombies climbing our hill. Fast ones. The worst kind. “The fire is blocking our path! We have to stop it!” Chief Mate cries. Co-Captain mans the grill while I lounge on my new bench. Smoke billows from the round black receptacle. We have no lighter fluid. “I need something to block the smoke from my face,” Chief Mate remarks. “What-ho! We have just been given such a face cover from a far distant ally...” “Why are you talking like that?” Chief Mate interrupts. Maybe I was pretending to be King Ezekiel for a second. I’ve got zombies on the brain. Not literally. The meat looks vaguely like brain matter. I try to steer my thoughts elsewhere. I watch the smoke. It may be hours before we eat. But the weather is pleasant, as is the company, and I have absolutely nothing else to do tonight. I don’t mind one bit. Unless there is a zombie sighting. That may put a d...