Pandemic fatigue. I’ve tried to avoid it for as long as possible, tried to distract myself, tried not to linger on my feelings. But lately, these feelings, which must fall under the “pandemic fatigue” category, seem inescapable. Loneliness, frustration, exhaustion. All of this compounded by winter. After a particularly off evening, I had to sit down and write about it, which helped release some kind of pressure building inside me.
✰ Pandemic Fatigue
The other evening after dinner, I drove across town to Petsmart to pick up a bag of food for Lune. I was hoping the drive would be restorative: just me, myself, and with luck, a good song on the radio. I thought about going to the Krispy Kreme, about how that might be a thrill, and how I needed something sweet.
The problem is that so much of the joy in my life has been reduced to this: ordering two donuts at the Krispy Kreme drive through. As the person at the window handed me my debit card, I realized I’d completely forgotten to put my mask on, and I sped away in horror at my oversight. I parked my car outside Petsmart and ate the first donut, a fresh hot Original Glazed™. All five bites were perfect. I was in heaven. This was joy, this was fun, this was living. See, I told myself, all you need is a fresh hot donut every now and then. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.
Then I took a bite of the second donut, a Strawberry Glazed, and tasted my mistake right away. The Strawberry Glazed donut was neither fresh nor hot. It was way too sweet. A woman climbed into the driver’s seat in the car next to me and I saw myself from her view: a person sitting alone in a car in the Petsmart parking lot, shoving a donut in their mouth.
The second donut gave me an instant stomachache. I licked the icing off my fingers, which I understand to be unacceptable in the midst of a pandemic, and went inside to pick up the pre-paid bag of kibble. It was on a shelf with a receipt taped to it, my name typed in large, bold letters. I grabbed it and walked past the person at the cash register, unsure if there was some sort of checkout process. I just held up the bag and asked if I could take it. She said, “well, um… yeah. I just—I just need your name.” I told her my name. “Ok, you’re good,” she said. Anyone could have read the name on the receipt and told the cashier that.
There was a multi-car pileup at the intersection leading out of the shopping mall. Tow trucks were streaming in from every direction. It took about 20 minutes just to get to the light. When I got there, I wasn’t able to turn right, towards home. I watched a man sweep shattered glass off the street. An SUV was being attached to a tow truck. The front hood of a red car in the adjacent Hardee’s parking lot was completely smashed in, all the way to the windshield. Police lights were strobing all over the place. The giant truck right behind me inexplicably had its brights on, blinding me in the side and rearview mirrors. I smelled something burning, and started to panic. I couldn’t see with all the flashing lights, I couldn’t figure out which direction to go, I was worried that something was on fire and we were all about to be engulfed in flames. Finally, the light turned green. It took me an extra ten or fifteen minutes to get home in a roundabout way, on the dark, empty interstate. Why am I here, why am I here, why am I here, I kept asking myself. An errand that shouldn’t have taken longer than 30 minutes took almost twice that. And all the while, no good songs on the radio.
In bed that night, Lune crawled under the covers and curled up against my feet, his little heart beating into my arches. I was struck by this intimacy, this body on body contact, warmth and soft fur and the strangeness of a heart beat at my feet. I thought about the last times I experienced intimacy, this past summer in Madrid, in between near-total isolation under Spain’s lockdown and moving back to Virginia. Two months of being with friends, lounging in the park together, swimming together, cooking dinners for each other and squeezing in around small tables to eat.
Contact with friends is thinning, both virtually and in person. I wonder—and worry—how many people will slip out of my life as the pandemic stretches on. Sometimes, in a burst of resolve or wishful thinking, I send messages to people on Instagram or Tinder in an attempt to connect and make new friends, but after a short back and forth I’m confronted with the feeling that I just don’t have it in me to keep up with the correspondence, especially with people I might not ever meet in person.
Instead, I can’t help but retreat further and further. There are only two places I want to be these days: working in my studio, or curled up with Lune in bed, reading. There are six books stacked up beside me on the bed right now. I can’t stop ordering them from the library. I’m about to finish reading my 8th book of the month. They are desperately needed escape portals, taking me out of this town, this country, this life. Lune comes with me, of course, heart beating at my feet.
✰ Five Things
For those of you into figure drawing, or who would like to try figure drawing, I want to alert you to two virtual opportunities. Embodiment Sessions by Body Confidence aka Alex Schmidt happen every Wednesday at 8pm EST. Schmidt embodies a different muse or character each week and puts on a fun playlist for 80 minute sessions. $15/sesh but no one is turned away for lack of funds! Second, my friend L has been organizing casual queer/trans figure drawing sessions every Friday at 8pm EST ~ if you are interested in modeling or drawing, let me know and I can connect you to the group.
Charlottesville: mutual aid alert! This post has two specific drop-off days that have already passed, but I imagine collections will be ongoing, so follow @defundcvillepd for updates. You can also make a monetary contribution here.
I thought I’d pass some info along from the January Cville Pride Community Newsletter: 1) The Women's Initiative offers mental health services to women regardless of ability to pay. More info here. 2) PFLAG hosts a virtual trans peer group on the third Saturday of every month. Email Jane at jcc5k@virginia.edu. 3) Charlottesville Pride has partnered with Black Transmen Inc providing binders and packers to anyone in need. Local people of all colors can obtain a binder at no cost. Email info@cvillepride.org for more info.
Virginia calls to action re: recent police violence:
More recent update to Orlando’s story: He has been released into the care of his family while he awaits trial. His family is accepting donations to pay for his home electronic monitoring device. Race Capitol will continue to keep up with Orlando’s story and ways to hold the police accountable.
An interesting read / good tinder for discussion and debate about creative and cultural labor: “The Artist Isn’t Dead” by William Powhida
✰ Figure Drawing Inspiration
Tanya Merrill, Double cowgirl, 2020, oil and oilstick on linen, 48 x 36 inches
What does your pandemic fatigue feel like, look like, sound like? Let’s commiserate. Or let me know where and how you’re finding joy! I love you, I miss you.
❥ Ava