and the days roll by
Jun. 2nd, 2020 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jazzfishI've seen people talking about being unsure what day it is, thanks to quarantine and Covid and all that. I don't have that problem. I'm still working, so each day has its own general rhythm: Monday is catch-up, Tuesday is planning for the week, Wednesday is counseling, etc etc. Weekends might be tough, but they're only two days long. Tracking "Saturday" versus "Sunday" is easy enough.
My problem is that I don't know what week it is. Days blur together in the sense that nothing feels sufficiently urgent anymore. Email piles up unanswered, household clutter begins to take over all available space. Basic tasks easily get moved into the "eh, tomorrow" bucket.
This is new for me. I'm used to holding up under ongoing stress, only way out is through an all that. Now cracks are showing in the system and I don't really know what to do with that. Other than keep on keeping on, I mean.
On Sunday I read this Twitter thread by Sarah Taber three times, and I'm still not entirely sure why. The first couple of tweets sound like they're just going to be snarky ("it appears the person who tried to light the old slave market on fire mostly succeeded at lighting themselves on fire") but quickly veers into "what the hell is going on in Fayetteville anyway".
I spent the worst five years of my childhood in Fayetteville: Dad was stationed at Bragg, for whatever reason we didn't leave after the standard three years, and the summer we would have left was 1990 and Desert Shield, and he got deployed to Saudi. Turns out I've still got a lot of memories and sense-of-place wrapped up in it.
I dunno. The story she tells makes sense to me, fits with what I remember as a junior-high kid with little interest in his environment. I knew Fayetteville didn't much care for the military folks. I just never associated it quite so strongly with class differentials.
My problem is that I don't know what week it is. Days blur together in the sense that nothing feels sufficiently urgent anymore. Email piles up unanswered, household clutter begins to take over all available space. Basic tasks easily get moved into the "eh, tomorrow" bucket.
This is new for me. I'm used to holding up under ongoing stress, only way out is through an all that. Now cracks are showing in the system and I don't really know what to do with that. Other than keep on keeping on, I mean.
On Sunday I read this Twitter thread by Sarah Taber three times, and I'm still not entirely sure why. The first couple of tweets sound like they're just going to be snarky ("it appears the person who tried to light the old slave market on fire mostly succeeded at lighting themselves on fire") but quickly veers into "what the hell is going on in Fayetteville anyway".
I spent the worst five years of my childhood in Fayetteville: Dad was stationed at Bragg, for whatever reason we didn't leave after the standard three years, and the summer we would have left was 1990 and Desert Shield, and he got deployed to Saudi. Turns out I've still got a lot of memories and sense-of-place wrapped up in it.
I dunno. The story she tells makes sense to me, fits with what I remember as a junior-high kid with little interest in his environment. I knew Fayetteville didn't much care for the military folks. I just never associated it quite so strongly with class differentials.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-02 09:05 pm (UTC)