The Isolation Journals - Day 12

Today's prompt comes from singer Mavis Staples.  It's a gross, rainy day here and it would be all too easy to slide into a dark or cynical place.  Lucky for us, this prompt is about gratitude, so let's drag ourselves, kicking and screaming, out of that pit of despair.

Prompt:  Write about your blessings. About what it was like to wake up today, about the people you love, about the songs that have lifted your spirits. Write about the wind in the trees, or of rebirth in spring, or of freedom. Write about whatever gives you life, which—especially in troubled times, we remember—is so precious.

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This morning as my conscious brain drifted to the surface, I felt a weight on my chest.  Well this is it, I thought.  This is how it ends.  Before I opened my eyes, I wanted to go back to sleep and wake up in another time, another place, where every bodily abnormality isn't a possible harbinger of death.

But then I did open my eyes.  I found the emerald eyes of my fat cat starting back at me as she purred on my chest, not the insidious viral agent my lizard brain conjured from half-sleep.

This morning I am grateful for my health, and I know I'm in good company.  Has there ever been a time like this when it seems that everyone on earth is acutely and uncomfortably aware of our bodies?  Every ache, pain, cough, or sneeze is worthy of examination.

I am grateful for old friends.  Last night, about a dozen of us Zoomed and drank and watched digitally remastered marching band videos from 20 years ago.  It was a weirdly specific source of joy and I hope we do it again soon, but maybe without the band videos.  I can only stand to see my 15-year-old self prancing in a unitard about once a decade.

I am grateful for my cat, who, despite our misunderstanding this morning, brings us delight with her antics and companionship.  I don't understand all these people saying the cats can't wait for the humans to finally leave the house again.  She's been like a barnacle, growing more attached to us the longer we remain in port.  In a good way.  She's a very cuddly barnacle.

If I'm being honest, I'm even grateful for the dog.  In normal times, he's a neurotic basketcase that brings us nothing but stress and irritation.  He's having the best months of his life with us at home.  Plus, he gives me a reason to get out of bed, put on pants, and adhere to some semblance of routine.

Most of all, I'm grateful for the opportunity to slow down and just be for a while.  The reason for it is terrible, and no one would wish for this.  Yet here we are, making the best of this shit sandwich the universe has packed for all our lunches.  To paraphrase the wisdom of Sarah Silverman, "When life gives you AIDS, make lemonaids."  Let's squeeze whatever sweetness we can out of these sour circumstances.