Scribbles going about things
I’m writing this in a small notebook I keep in my bag, in the queue in the supermarket as we inch forward towards the checkouts. People are still unused to bagging their own groceries after three months. My knee is burning, and I’m glad I decided against trying the frozen yoghurt.
Only one person per family allowed in at a time; no elderly, no pregnant women, no kids. I quite like the absence of screaming kids running around and chasing each other, and no wailing babies.
As I added the things we need to the trolley, I am forever reminded of dad, and blink the tears away. It is scant comfort that he is – in this moment – safe and gets his groceries delivered. I miss him so much, and this year there’ll be no flying around the world to visit.
Like countless times before I glance around, hoping against hope to see someone, bump into a dear or at least familiar-in-a-good-way face, or make a new acquaintance. In 13 years that’s never happened but I keep hoping. Followed by a split-second daydream that a friend has come over to surprise me against all odds. Silly me. And this year, right now, with C19, the odds have dropped into negative figures.
There is a feeling of hopelessness that just refuses to shift, so I feel it and breathe deeply behind my face mask, and try not to cry. Not that anyone can see me behind the steamed up glasses.
I feel it in all supermarkets, have done for years. Right now the fear that spiked before xmas and again with C19 has dropped somewhat but it’s still there.
Then I wonder if that desperation and hopelessness I’m feeling is me or this place. If it is my vibrational discord or an undercurrent outside of me.
I’ve felt it for years, and the best I can describe it is imagine continuously throwing a basket ball and only ever hitting the hoop. Never ever getting one in.
It’s a good metaphor for my life, and I wonder what tethers me to this world at all, I feel so lost and lonely in it.
The endless regeton pumped out through various speakers, seemingly to indoctrinate people – as if they needed to be reminded – that life is all about sex. That misogyny is alive and well in this ugly city. Reminding me that I will never fit in.
I berate myself for being seemingly unable to keep my focus on something positive; here and now. That there is food available even if the prices have escalated, and I have enough to feed and keep us.
But I come back to what feels like a wasted life. Mine.
Like people through the ages, I just keep pushing, hoping to push through, and find that break that will make it worth while. Push on, because I don’t know what else to do.
I wonder if it is me, some underlying undiagnosed PTSD or what, that my life seems so not worth living. Like wtf is wrong with me? Besides depression, chronic pain, no local friends, no work, and the general state of the world I mean. I’ve lived with that for years, it’s nothing new. Don’t bother others. No one wants to hear about it. Your problems are petty and you need to snap out of it.
It feels like an eternity when I finally reach the check-out, but when I look at my watch walking towards the exit it’s been about 45 minutes.
On towards the electricity board where the queue snakes out the door and around the corner of the concrete and glass building. Another long goosestep wait to pay the bill at the automates, as usual only half are working. The bill is a 100pesos less than the last one – grateful for small mercies.
I think I can hear a kitten meowing, but I can’t see one. I guess that’s…what…lucky? For what can I do? I can get some catfood from the car and feed it, if it is old enough to eat solids, but it will only prolong the inevitable for an other day. Life as a stray is hash and often short. I wonder why they choose to incarnate into circumstances like that, and what kind of existence would be worse? I don’t go there. It breaks my heart. I want to feed and find shelter for every stray in the whole f’kin world.
In the car going home, stopping to get water.
I wonder if it is I who haven’t got what it takes; enough sticking power or stamina for this world.
It used to be us, a tiny unit of togetherness, metaphorically back to back in the world. Not so any more.
Neither of us are made for this world, and by the look of things
we may not make it to some new one either.
It’s closing in on us. Breaking us apart. It doesn’t feel like any “us” these days. We’re just trying to survive, but no clear motivation why. And I don’t know what to do.
Catpaws Cafe 