There is no pain you are receding...

I'm someone who generally feels a lot. Or anyway, rarely feels nothing, or very little. Which is to say, I tend to feel strongly one way or another about everything.

Not like about whether we have chicken for dinner--I rarely have strong feelings about food.

But about emotional stuff, and about people, I FEEL a lot. And travel. And clothing.

OK, I feel very strongly about many things. I guess I even feel strongly about dinner, in that I am fucking sick of making it.

But anyway.

Nick says that he's glad he doesn't have my lows, but he doesn't think he feels as much joy as I do in my highs. I also don't think he connects with people with the intensity that I do.

Which is why he can be indifferent to people. Whereas I'm rarely indifferent.

But for some time now I am kind of...indifferent to most things. Numb, maybe? Numb with bursts of outrage and anxiety.

And still, somehow, I want to be number.

If I were inclined to start my day with alcohol and then just keep going, this is what I'd be doing right now.

I had an aunt who did this, and she was really, really fun. Except when she wasn't.

But I don't want to be out of it. I just want to feel closer to nothing.

I bought some CBD gummies from Martha Stewart, of all people, because I read this charming New York Times article about how she got high with Snoop Dogg and how her delicious fruity CBD gummies were helping her maintain a sense of calm.

This past Sunday or maybe the one prior I saw in Parade that Martha has been baking a lot of cakes and I was all, hell yeah no surprise there. She's been smoking all that pot with Snoop Dogg.

Anyway, her spendy little fruit gummies do nothing to take the edge off. (She did say in her article that she only takes two of them, where as some of her friends take 20. Let me tell you, 20 is most of the jar. That would be an expensive damn gummy habit.)

Now, you might think that because I'm numb I'm not anxious. That seems to have stuck around.

I'm incredibly fucking anxious.

I have this Russian friend who always has these fabulous home remedies like mustard plaster to loosen chest congestion. Anyway, she told me about Motherwort drops, which you can order on Amazon, and so I did.

You put a dropperful in a couple ounces of water and tastes kind of like freshly cut grass, which makes me feel better about it. Like, if it tastes bad, it's probably going to work. You drink it in the morning and the evening. It's supposed to calm your nervous system so you can sleep.

Oh, because that's another thing. I haven't been sleeping.

It's not anxiety. It's just not sleeping. It's awakeness when it should be asleepness.

And then sometimes I'm so tired it hurts, and I lie down in the afternoon and sleep like I am dead.

I don't think I'm depressed. I have given this a lot of thought, honestly.

I think it's pandemic life coupled with a hugely anxiety provoking election and the inability to make any future plans because god knows.

It's the absence of hope.

And also I cannot fucking figure out 6th grade distance learning. And there is no end in sight on this.

Maybe we will fail 6th grade.

Although, you know, when I was in 6th grade, my dad attempted suicide, and we didn't tell anyone. And then he told us we were all fine. So we believed we were, of course, totally fine. 

And being totally fine, I forgot to do my homework every single day. Until my teacher made me write it down in a notebook and bring it home for my mom to sign to say I'd done it.

But because my mom was also totally and completely fine, she would forget to make me do my homework and also forget to sign it every single day as well.

And somehow I still made it to 7th grade. 

So maybe Jordan and I will, too.

I'm grateful, of course I am. We are all healthy. Nick is super busy with work. We have a comfortable house and plenty of food and I feel guilty that we are totally fine when so many are not.

It's not that I don't feel guilt or sorrow. And Schitt's Creek has even made me laugh recently. I feel these things. But at kind of a removal.

Like they're happening to someone else. Someone to whom everything matters less.

But that person is also super anxious. And doesn't really sleep.

And she also just got a prescription for antibiotics for the Lyme disease that doctors kept saying she probably didn't have, despite tests saying oh, hey, look, here's some Lyme!

Maybe doxycycline will help. Pray the doxycycline helps.

And she should maybe start ordering Martha Stewart fancy cake instead of those little poseur gummies.

 By she of course I mean me. Cripes. Imagine. That's all I need.