After getting the test results (negative) yet continuing to struggle with WHAT respiratory infection, I am feeling understandable heightened anxiety. I was tested on March 20th. Last week I was (finally!) contacted by the outfit that tested me THREE TIMES on the same day to ensure I had gotten my test results. By the third call, I was a little annoyed. My physician would like to see me retested and have some other labs done but also doesn’t want me to have to go back to the E.R. unless I get so ill I need to be seen. It’s a dilemma. So she calls me frequently, as does my psych doc. (I’ve actually seen him by telemedicine. Pretty cool.) BUT.
I must admit that this all is having an effect. My coping mechanisms are fairly decent. I’m a lifelong introvert who has also had the benefit of a lot of therapy. So I’m perhaps better equipped than many. I am solitary by nature. I normally spend the bulk of my time alone. So I’m not doing much that is out of the ordinary. I’m reading (6 books ahead on my 200 book challenge!); streaming some stuff; listening to music (Gary Numan featured on my playlist this morning); studying (aprendo Espanol; catching up on some Greek philosophy; listening to dharma talks); meditating; taking walks with my whippet; writing (I’m a poet and occasional LTE writer.); engaging in such social activism as I can.
My dreams, though, have become Mad Max territory in the extreme. Post- apocalyptic scenarios indeed. My poems reflect this, though I try to balance this by writing also about the moments of peace I’ve experienced. Rarely does a dream (or poem) find a middle middle ground these days. Rarely do I. During the day, I’m moving through my life….listening to Gary Numan singing, “We Are So Fragile.” I’ll occasionally stop and feel almost the urge to cry. Instead, I turn off the music and strike my singing bowl and breathe. Then I go back to life….cleaning, reading, whatever I was doing.
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