I can't sleep…
I know I am becoming someone different. I just don’t know what that difference will be yet.
— Joelle Wright-Terry, 47, a hospice chaplain from Clinton Township, Mich., is a Covid survivor. She lost her husband to the virus last April. From “Emerging From the Coronavirus” in The New York Times, April 5, 2021
Notes:
But then the sun came out where I live this week, and I was alive again. Dunno if you’ve noticed this, but it’s been the longest year since records began, and the timing of lockdown restrictions easing this week coinciding with warm weather in parts of England – which the press was more than happy to call a “heatwave” – has me feeling quite hopeful. I can hear a bird tweeting as I type this sentence! The sun is in the sky! Life begins anew! …
There is a tingling, bright feeling in the air that feels alien to a lot of us – anticipation, maybe, the idea that lido visits will soon lead to pub visits that will one day lead to music festivals and cheap summer holidays. I have a haircut booked in for 12 April and, after a full year without anything to anticipate, it might be the most excited about anything I’ve ever been in my life. Spring is a season of green shoots. Being able to go to someone’s garden and interact with five other people who have spent a year forgetting how to make small talk finally feels like one of them.
— Joel Golby, from “What is that weird, tingling feeling? Could it possibly be … hope?” in “The Guardian” March 30, 2021
Photo: DK @ Daybreak, March 30, 2021, Norwalk, CT. 6:38 am.
5:15 a.m. Woozy from sleep meds.
Trudge to bathroom. Empty tank. Strip down for morning weigh-in. Pause. Step over to toilet. Spit. I silently thank Anneli (again) for her tip, every ounce counts. Weigh-in outcome? Flat to yesterday. Could be worse.
Forecast, 19° F. But hold on. With wind chill: 4° F, wind gusts up to 39 mph. Oooooooh.
Body yearns for the warmth of the comforter and the bed. Sean Patrick Mulroy: “Here is what I love about the brain: How it remembers. How it sews what soft it can into a blanket for the nights when I am cold...”
301 consecutive days. Like in a row. Cove Island Park morning walk @ daybreak. Gotta keep the streak alive.
I suit up. In this order. Underwear. White cotton t-shirt. Wool socks. Another pair of wool socks over top. Gym shorts over underwear. Fleece lined sweatpants over gym shorts. Fleece lined snow pants over the fleece lined sweatpants. Turtleneck over t-shirt. Sweatshirt with hoodie over Turtleneck. Goose down jacket. Another goose down jacket over top of the first. Tuk pulled tight over the ears. (Pronounced Tuuuuuuuk.) Hoodie overtop of the tuk. Hiking boots. Thinsulate gloves (to work the camera dials). Done! Ready! I pause to catch my breath, I’m overheating. Wow. I’m coming unglued here. This is Darien, CT for God sakes. Not the Vostok Research Station in Antarctica.
I step out the door. Come on. Hit me. Give me your best shot. Continue reading “Walking. In Sacred Time.”
Head Cold. Nasal drip. Nagging cough. Light nausea. Friday the 13th. Feels about right.
6:10 am. Cove Island Park. 192 days. Consecutive, and getting long in the tooth.
45° F. Wind gusts up to 25 mph. Drizzle. Wet. Cold.
Cloud cover: 100%. Like a million %.
M-G: You’re dragging.
DK: It’s that obvious?
M-G: Snarky too.
M-G: COVID?
DK: Can’t be.
M-G: How’s that?
DK: Hood Brand Ice Cream Sandwiches.
M-G: Ice Cream Sandwiches? Continue reading “Walking. With M-G.”
