Inner Doodles

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....

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

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

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...

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...

I didn’t leave the house today. Not once. I read an article a while back that said we as a human race were grieving. Grieving for the world and the loss of human lives. Grieving for the loss of our so-called freedoms. (I am paraphrasing and perhaps sprinkling in my own opinion. I don’t remember the exact words.) The grief is sitting with me again. It’s not negative. Not positive. Just heavy. My school assignments are getting increasingly more difficult to complete. But I force myself to sit at the desk until they are done. It felt good when I finally got biggest one out of the way. Tried not to think about the many other smaller tasks that are due by Monday. Then found my brain counting them anyway. Letting anxiety show it’s ugly face. How dare it? I decided to play with Chief Mate in his Duplo garden. But my ideas are not always welcome. I was handed a guy. I wanted my character to be peacemaker, but “He can’t do that! That’s not his way!” How dare he? I put my guy in timeout an...

A fresh gale tore through the front yard today upheaving our canvases. I knew it was windy before we set out, but I put “painting outside” on the schedule and, by God, we were going to paint! “I don’t want to paint in the wind,” whined the voice of a boy who’s been allowed one too many television shows this week. “It will be fine,” I ran inside to grab reinforcements. Not sure who I was really trying to convince. Frog tape did the trick. With canvases anchored to plywood boards and palette paper taped to the sidewalk (I was sure HOA wouldn’t mind) we set to work. I invited our next-door inhabitant to paint with us. She stayed on her patio, us on ours. Nothing like painting with friends 20 feet apart in strong wind. “I made the feet too fat,” cried the novice painter. “Oh! But you can just repaint them. Paint is so forgiving. You just wait for it to dry and then layer and...” But Chief Mate was done painting. He was already whacking trees with his favorite stick. A regular pastim...

Co-Captain and Chief Mate worked on making a sling shot today. He has been instructed not to hit or harm any wildlife. The Inner Child in me loves the sentiment. However, the Inner Beast fully believes we will resort to eating squirrel by June. So ... target practice will calm my instinctual nerves. On a lighter note, I finally got my “snow” (see attached video). Sometimes things don’t turn out the way you want or could possibly imagine. And we must adapt anyway. Keep calm and face mask on. END TRANSMISSION

Please tell me we are not the only household losing our damn minds? Humor me, post something ridiculous that YOU have done. Pics, Poem, Flash Fiction Story, Interpretive Dance, and.... GO! END TRANSMISSION

The tree tops were lit Casting apocalyptic Glow of setting sun. Post your own haiku Include a picture or two END (of) TRANSMISSION

My focus has dusted the bathroom and cat is snoring in a pile of fur. I started a load of laundry and forgot the soap. I watched my neighbors move and my hair is dry and way too long. I wonder if the faucet is unclogged or if the package arrived yet. How many days has it been since the Dragon Prince started? Chapter 7 of my math book keeps going and I don’t remember where I put the mail key. I AM BORED END TRANSMISSION

The days are blending into one. It’s all one giant Groundhog Day, but less funny and with significantly less snow. Inner Beasts are itching to escape from every corner of our beings. I entertain Chief Mate and myself with acoustic jingles and spontaneous dance rap songs. Our own life soundtrack, if you will. I will spare you the recordings, although they do exist. Not sure what they will say about us when some future generation finds them. School has yet to formulate, but I have faith it will soon take shape. Many masterminds are working around the clock to make it happen. Math must go on. Reading must recommence. Science must continue to cause speculation. Art ... well you get the idea. Carry on, human race. END TRANSMISSION

The sun has been out for two days in a row. Virtual School begins today. Parents who are working from home, hang in there. This is uncharted territory for us all. Despite anxiety, grief, and other such discomforts, spring is still waking up. It is a new world. Let’s make it a good one. END TRANSMISSION

The creatures on this planet prove to be strange, but non-threatening. Exhibit A releases a terrible stench when agitated, but I believe it to be non-toxic. The creature in Exhibit B does not move even when the shiny orbed aliens come in for an attack. Chief Mate fended them off crying, “Save the frog! Kill the bubbles!” Life remains exciting despite confinement. END TRANSMISSION

The stiffness is setting in. My body won’t stand up straight anymore. Corporate wants things to go back to normal this week. We all know this is a feeble attempt to regain control. The definition of normal has shifted tremendously. Control is an illusion. My body aches. If you exercise, your brain shuts off the stress valve. A therapist once told me this. She said that when you exercise your brain is physically incapable of releasing stress signals and the exercise allows your body and mind to meditate. Imagine actually being able to let go of these plaguing thoughts. Even for just a few minutes. Watching a 17 minute math-teaching video in my swivel stool hurts more than you can imagine. I decided to humor my therapist. “American teachers teach to get the right answer.” Boxer shuffle feels good. “Japanese teachers teach to understand a math concept.” Punch, punch, punch, punch. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. “If we teach with next week’s test in mind,” Lunge, 2, 3, 4. “Students mi...

The enemy loomed above us. It surrounded us on all sides as the wind picked up speed. Its troops an assortment of colors and sizes. All oddly shaped as glistening orbs. We couldn’t escape. There was no time for a peace offering, they were upon us. Chief Mate acted fast. With no proper weapon at hand, he plunged his training sword into their hearts. The enemy exploded on contact. They were no match for his force. Blow after blow his precision impressed me. One exploded in my eye, but I did not fall. The enemy proved weak against our weaponry, though it is far from advanced. Chief Mate’s war cry reverberated off of the silent houses. “Yeaaaaaaaaagghhh!” echoed into the woods. Finally the last of the fleet floated off above the tree tops. A defeated retreat. Tonight we celebrate with mint milanos. END TRANSMISSION

This is my attempt to reach out to the world. For anyone listening, How are you holding up? END TRANSMISSION

Specimen C is out of food. She’s a very particular creature. Only eats wriggling things. I refuse to catch spiders for her. Crickets are sparse. I’ve enlisted the help of local inhabitants to dig up worms. Let’s see if she will eat them. *** Success! After letting 2 escape and 3 dry up, Specimen C has ingested 5 earthworms. Now let’s hope she has no reaction to this new and plentiful food. END TRANSMISSION