Hello Zany Lady friends!! Sitting down to finally write feels weird and foreign and abrasively confrontational.
Let’s catch up, shall we?
The last couple months have been a whirlwind of change and transition and discomfort and uncertainty, as it probably has been with many (if not all) of you reading this. For those of you who don’t know (which would be hard because I’m annoying about it on social media), I live in Manhattan. I have a full-time job as a writer, I live in an adorable apartment with my best friend on the Upper West Side, and I have a group of friends that I absolutely adore.
Well, I did. Then this little thing called the FREAKING CORONAVIRUS came to the US and hit my beloved city pretty damn hard. My roommate and I both decided to leave the city days before a stay-at-home order was put in place for the city. Not thinking it would last more than a week or two, I packed 3 outfits into my carry-on suitcase, and took a train back to Maryland.
I went home the weekend of March 13th. Two weeks went by, working remotely, and I turned 23 on one rainy, anti-climactic Wednesday. Originally I had birthday plans to go to a fun brunch in our Upper West Side neighborhood with all my best gal friends, and now staying home with those plans cancelled, I felt wildly underwhelmed. I felt heavy with sadness that I couldn’t be with my friends on my birthday, and cried myself to sleep that night. The next Monday I received an email saying that I, along with the majority of my department, would be furloughed starting April 1st. Woohoo, happy bday to me!!! 23, let’s go!!!
The furlough seemed to happen so fast, and I honestly didn’t (still don’t) know how to process the reality of my life now. At the time I was also coming to terms that my anxiety and depression wasn’t just a phase, and that I might need to get help to control it. Timing is funny because I starting taking my meds a week before my announced furlough. The world knew I couldn’t take this news with the state of my brain chemicals.
The reality of my life now is that I’m 23, unemployed, and living with my parents. The steps I took to build my future and independence when I moved to Manhattan all the sudden feel non-existent, like my life is at a stand-still. I think I’ve been avoiding writing on here because this blog is a way I process my life, and if we’re being honest, I had no interest in processing what happened/is happening right now. It was easier for me to just ignore it and pretend everything was fine.
Naturally, on April 1st, my first day of furlough, I adopted a puppy. His name is Benji. I have no idea what breed he is or how big he might get, but I did know when I adopted him that I needed as much emotional support as I could get, and what better way than a puppy?
Benji was (and is) such a blessing to my life, and came at the perfect time. Those first couple months kept me very occupied with him, which is what I needed. He’s 4 months old now, and starting to get the hang of being an indoor dog (aka you can’t pee whenever and wherever you’d like).
I also did what any recently furloughed 23-year-old living with their parents would do, and I re-decorated my room. It was bad enough I didn’t have my job anymore, and couldn’t live in my apartment, but what made it worse was having to live in the bedroom I had grown up in, that reeked of adolescence. So I covered all the ugly blue walls (thought I was edgy choosing BLUE in middle school), took down the photos from my sweet 16, removed all the yearbooks and journals and letters and objects I had held onto from my youth that truly have no value at this point in my life (although, it was very entertaining reading my diary from middle school).
I have now been living this weird, vortex-like life for 2 months, and am just starting to begin to process what the hell is going on. Most of my days are filled with taking Benji for walks, doing yoga, napping (a lot) and getting lost in a historical fiction novel (my favorite genre). My life as a whole feels inconsequential, and I’m still trying to accept that. I have a deep fear of failure; less the failure itself and more being perceived as a failure by others. I think that’s what has been the most painful part about this season of my life.
I’m thankful I have my family to fall back on during these times, and I’m thankful that I can still talk to my friends, even if it is over the phone. I desperately miss the life I had begun to create for myself in the city, and can only pray that I’ll have the opportunity to go back to it soon.
Those are my thoughts, and that is where Zany Lady is at these days. I hope you all are hanging in there and doing your best to get through this as much as I am!