Warning: If you’ve ever referred to the Spring of 2020 as the darkest of times or the workers at the Urgent Care as first responders, you really just shouldn’t read further. Save yourself the 3 minutes. We all have opinions based on our own minds, experiences, and knowledge (though knowledge is harder to come by, what with the twists and turns of information). It’s never been easier to just move on. We don’t even have to disagree anymore, we can just erase! What a wonderful world, right?
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I don’t feel funny anymore. Not that I was ever hilarious or stand-up comedian level humorous, but I could usually make people laugh, or at least make one of those little noises like something’s stuck in a nostril, most of the time. I’m just not funny anymore. I wonder if it’s a phase, like post-single motherhood was or the ‘pause that I can’t use “was” for, because as soon as I do, it’ll slap me around again. (Fool me twelve times, ‘pause, shame on you.) This has nothing to do with the CV. My search for my own funny has gone back some years now. I’ve also noticed that things I used to think were hilarious and loved to make fun of, like The Bachelor, now just get my dander up. Have I changed? Have they changed? Both, I know.
The CV hasn’t changed my lifestyle that much. I’ve worked, not worked, and worked part-time from home for a couple of years now. I haven’t enjoyed my Raytheon-esque neighbors spending their stimulus bonanzas on home improvement projects, but I get it. Before the shutdown, I was in the camp of skepticism, but now I’m just in the camp of utter defeat. “They” have proven what they can do to us. I won’t say what we allow them to do to us, because we’ve always been a police state (ask the indigenous folk) and most of us are just too pretty for jail. 95% (I’m making up numbers now; it IS the thing to do in 2020!) of us are middle class and working poor, just trying to get through the day without it ending in financial disaster. We’re all scared, panicked, tired, on edge, and pissed off. All that gets so misdirected, but the steam has to escape somewhere. They know all this and depend on it. And frankly, they just couldn’t care less. Not that Nancy Pelosi is the end all and be all of the evil that is this world now, but her filming a CV segment on the James Corden At-Home show about her million-dollar commercial kitchen and favorite $25 ice cream cone and not giving a flying fuck about what you think is just the epitome of what’s wrong.
See? Goddamn Covid. At this point, I don’t know if I’d know my funny if it came up and shook my hand. Not that it can do that, it’s against the orders. Whatever that means, my fuhrers. My conclusions about everything now are either sell the panic, sell the pill or follow the money. Seriously, try it; if one doesn’t fit, the other will. All that blowfishing to say that The CV is just the latest. Remember when the extremists in Afghanistan attacked us and we bombed Iraq? The majority of us stood by that until we couldn’t anymore, mostly because we were repeatedly told the right way to think about it. Don’t feel the right way? Shame on you. Every administration since the beginning of the country has had its evils, of course. Every single one. And every year has passed with a little more us vs. them, but the wins keep getting bigger and bigger. Or so it feels, anyway. There’s an expression about good men doing nothing and evil. We just need one good man or woman to start the revolution. But they’re too busy just trying to get through the day.
See? Still not funny.
I went to the store this morning. I used to set my alarm to shop at 6am no matter where I lived, just to avoid people. I can’t do that anymore, because hours have changed and people are everywhere by the opening bell. This morning, I saw a pregnant woman in her mid-thirties, with two kids of elementary school age. They were all wearing masks. Don’t get me started on the mask issue. Bicyclists, walkers, people driving in their cars wearing masks in a holier-than-thou, I care about people and you don’t glare from the top of their Bugs Bunny print. How can there be this many stupid people? Anyway, she yelled at her eldest because he wasn’t moving fast enough to get her a scooter from the scooter corral. Once he panicked and was able to get his mom a scooter, the three of them stopped at the entrance so she could FaceTime her husband about the boy’s behavior. Screamed at him, too. “I HAD TO YELL AT YOUR SON FOUR TIMES TO GET MY SCOOTER.” I’m really trying to make a conscious effort to realize we’re all walking, or scootering, wounded. Maybe her husband is a lazy dickweed who sits at home while she takes the kids and her belly to the store to buy him Milk Duds. It’s 7am and maybe she’s already worn down. But apparently, my compassion is hiding out with my funny, because I really just wanted to grab her phone and find a YouTube video that would teach me how to tie her fucking tubes right there by the avocado bin. And FaceTime it.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to another store I had never been to. They had lectures streaming over the PA system about how to sneeze into a tissue and throw it away. How to wash your hands. How to not touch your face. For the love of God, the audience can’t be saved, dude.
Obviously, I’ve been busy. Eating. Really, my only ventures out of the house have been to search for food. Or to have wrecks. I remember years ago, seeing an elderly woman standing by her car that was straddling a median curb and thinking how the hell could that even happen to a person. Now I know. In April, it happened to me. (How’s that for not taking responsibility?) Really, though, it was all my fault. Well, me and The Covid. I was using one of those alcohol wipes some restaurants (eating theme again) give you to wipe your hands after you eat (imagine? hygiene? and no loud-speaker instructions telling me not to use while driving? how could I know better?) to clean my steering wheel. Yes, while I was driving. I think my reflexes must be preoccupied, because I wiped left and my car went real left and ended up on a median. Wrecked the entire left side of my car. Twenty six hundred and thirteen dollars and forty seven cents. Goddamn Covid.
The real tragedy of The CV is that there are even less reasons to leave the house than normal for me, resulting in even more braless hours inside the house and heat rashes due to boobs of a certain age. Speaking of heat, I got an air fryer. (Eating.) Believe the hype. I’ve made chicken wings I think I could sell in a restaurant. Or better yet, a food truck. It’s really not safe for others to be around me until my funny comes home.
I’ve been learning some new things about astrology and studying how the nodes affect us. We just exited 18 months of the North Node in Cancer, which felt like the purge for this Cancer. I felt like I was constantly defending or trying to explain myself. But I ended the shift standing up for myself and speaking my truth and just getting rid of the things that don’t serve, as they say. I think I’ve gained twenty pounds in that process even before The CV nonsense, but that’s okay, because now we’re in the North Node in Gemini, May 6, 2020 – January 18, 2022, when the shit will probably hit the fan anyway. I’ve read that we’re to think of what happened in our lives between Dec 14, 1945 – Aug 2, 1947, Aug 26, 1964 – Feb 19, 1966, Mar 17, 1983 – Sep 11, 1984, and Oct 14, 2001 – Apr 14, 2003 for a glimpse into what could be in store. If so, I’m in big trouble. These were major growth spurts for me, trajectories toward independence and a new ferocity, but oh, the fear. I can’t live in that kind of fear again. I just hope I’m calmer now, more responsible for myself and less responsible for anyone else, but I admit that I’m concerned just looking at those dates. Luckily, I’m going to make crab rangoon in the air fryer this afternoon. They’ll calm my nerves.
We’ve had beautiful weather here in Tucson this spring. The snowbirds have been stuck here due to The CV, but they’re leaving as we speak, thank God. I always look forward to the summer solstice here, because it means that the steady climb to the longest day is over, and days will start to shorten, monsoons will come, and another fall and winter are soon to follow.
Oh! Unrelated. Did you know that May is the month of prosperity. It’s to do with the number 5, apparently. So, on the New Moon in April, I’ve been doing daily ritualizing and visualizing and meditating and acting as if around prosperity manifestations. Getting specific with my Universal requests. I know what I want, I do. I’m a pretty good mainfester (is that a word? If George W can say decider, I can say manifester), if I do say so myself, but for me, I’ve learned that the keys are to 1) be specific, and 2) just know. So, I’ve been consistent and specific – devoted to my monetary cause. And do you know what happened? The company I’m working for forgot to pay me this month. Maybe I’ll make turnovers in the air fryer, too.
I’ve since been paid, I’ve eaten my crab rangoon, I’ve had a lovely visit from my Spawn - he brought the funny with a lotta laughs making fun of Bob, the every Tucson bike rider click-clacking around Safeway in his cleats and Spandex shorts, junk way too close to the lettuce heads, picking up a ready made sprout salad to eat at the store cafe where he’ll wait for Jim, then they’ll saddle up and head to the micro-brewery for a half-pint (full-pint is just a little too much), and it’s just been a perfectly sweet day. I’m on a mission to find my funny, though. I don’t even know where to look anymore. Everything feels so serious, which is ludicrous considering I only have so many good years left on this planet. Why can’t I lighten up? And just like that, we’re back to the eating theme again.
Anyhoo, if you run across my funny, please tell it I miss it and that nothing makes sense since it’s been gone and I wish it would come home and I got an air fryer.