Date: April 12, 2020
Time of post 11:45 PM
Quarantine Day: 28
Last Song I Listened To: “Long Live” by Taylor Swift
Last Person I Communicated With: literally on the phone
with my mom as I write this
Last Thing I Ate: chicken alfredo & wine
Last Thing I Read: The Way of Thorn and Thunder by
Daniel Heath Justice
Current Mood: content but always mildly frustrated
One Thing I’ve Accomplished Today: did an FB live
read-aloud with Lexi!
One Thing I Want To Accomplish Today: read some more
of Justice
One Reason I’m Stressed Today: I’ve been putting off doing
dishes (and laundry) for days
One Reason I’m Happy Today: had a Zoom “Digi-Easter”
with some of the other grad students, and got to do the read along with Lexi
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| I actually started working on the PowerPoint for the Taylor Swift paper that I was supposed to present at PCA this week. I was (am!) really excited about it! |
Happy Easter! (Though I have a hard
and fast stance that it’s not Easter unless you sing “Up from the Grave HeArose,” so I hope you sang that today; otherwise, it’s not really Easter.) And,
maybe because it’s Easter, I’ve been thinking a lot about what could have been
this semester. Like, Jesus could have stayed in the tomb. He could have never
let Himself die on the cross for us. We could have been doomed for an eternity
in hell.
But we weren’t.
There are a lot of things from my Methodist
upbringing that I don’t agree with anymore (most recently, the Church's stance of not taking a stance on same-sex marriage and LGBTQ+ clergy); there’s a lot about organized religion,
in general, that doesn’t sit right with me anymore. But the one thing that I’ll
never be able to shake is Jesus’ message of hope and love. I’ve seen it. I’ve
experienced that hope and love in ways that have me utterly convinced there’s
something bigger than us out there, and that’s part of what’s getting me
through this quarantine.
There are so many things that could
have and should have happened for me this semester.
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| My Instagram story from when I submitted my PCA abstract. |
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| My Instagram story from the day my PCA abstract was accepted. |
I was supposed to present at two conferences that have been cancelled.
I was supposed to walk across the stage on May 15th and look at my parents in the crowd and wave and smile and tell them how grateful I am for them. I was supposed to introduce them to my friends, who they’ve been sending cards to for two years now solely because I won’t stop talking about them. Now, I don’t know if those two incredibly important parts of my life will ever meet.
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| Noelle, Mikayla, Molly, and I had a panel accepted to the national ChLA conference. It was supposed to be our last adventure together. Earlier this week, they officially cancelled the conference. |
I was supposed to spend March
through May celebrating with my best friends: nights out after successful
defenses, a Shrek-themed Prom, SAGE Events (dodgeball and movie nights were
already on the agenda), speakers like U.S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo and Children’s
Lit scholar Kristin Bluemel, and just spontaneous movie nights and game nights
and trips to Lawrence. Those things are all rescheduled or scrapped entirely.
And, usually, I have a pretty good
relationship with disappointment. I’ve learned not to expect perfect endings, but
too always hope for one. I think that’s why I get so much joy out of life—because
every good thing is a little bit of a surprise. I don’t know what that says
about my psyche, but I definitely like it better than always having my
heartbroken. This semester, though, I think I let myself expect the best. (Because
who honestly thinks something as catastrophic as a global pandemic will happen
and cancel graduation?) So I’m having a hard time putting a positive spin on
this—though there have been plenty of nice things happening. I asked my cohort for
pictures of us since we started grad school, and, boy did they come through.
Within minutes, I had dozens of pictures and videos of us, and I think you’d be
hard-pressed to find a cohort that gets along better than us. I was instantly
reminded of all the amazing times we’ve shared and all the fun we’ve had. I may
have teared up a little. I love them so much, and my heart hurts that I won’t
get more days like that with them. It was nice to relive those moments, but it’s
not Prom. It’s not graduation. And, for that, I’m a little bitter.
Logically, I know I’m doing my
part. I’m staying in. I’m social distancing. I’m grocery shopping once every 2
weeks and only going to one store when I do.
But some people aren’t.
And that—that makes me furious.
Some people are so ignorant and
full of themselves. The Kansas lawmakers who challenged Governor Kelley’s order
to not have church gatherings of more than 10 people. (Thank God the Supreme Court killed that.) The State of Alabama for
keeping state parks open so my Type 1 Diabetic brother still has to go to work.
Trump for being so obnoxious and incompetent. This reminds me so much of the
day I came home from second grade sobbing because other kids wouldn’t listen to
the rules. I’ve never been a fan or corporal punishment, and I feel like I’m
being punished with quarantine.
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| Knowing now that this was the last time we'd all go out to Aggieville together makes this picture extra special and extra sad (2-8-2020) |
So I’ll hope. I’ll hope for a
treatment and a vaccine and for people to stay inside for the love of all that’s
good. I’ll hope that the CDC gets a handle on all the outbreak epicenters and
that rural hospitals are able to treat current cases. I’ll hope that, somehow,
someday, some way, karma works out in my favor, that I’ll get my “one more moment”
with the people who, like me, had so much taken away. I’ll hope that Trump gets
his ass voted out of office in November and sued for every awful, inhumane
thing he’s done.
A decade ago, I might have
described these hopes as prayers.
Now, I don’t think the semantics
matter as much as the intent behind them.
Wholeheartedly, may the odds be
ever in our favor,
Katie
