Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Captain's Log, Day 8: Quarantine Daydreams of the Future


Date: April 8, 2020
Time of post: 11:28 PM
Quarantine Day: 24
Last Song I Listened To: “TiedTogether with a Smile” by TaylorSwift
Last Person I Communicated With: email to Dr. Kara Northway
Last Thing I Ate: ice cream sandwich
Last Thing I Read: classmates’ History of the Book projects
Current Mood: it’s varied; I’ve been excited and content and also nervous
One Thing I’ve Accomplished Today: got a good bit of Apocalypse and History of the Book HW done
One Thing I Want To Accomplish Today: watch the short film for class
One Reason I’m Stressed Today: Oh, you know…the future
One Reason I’m Happy Today: Dr. Northway gave us an extension on our research paper proposal! (Also, I watched 3 Harry Potter movies today [6, 7.1, and 7.2], which always puts me in a good mood!)


Dear Apocalypsers,

We’ve been talking about various futurisms in class the last few weeks—Afrofuturisms, Indigenous futurisms. Futurisms are all about reimagining what life could look like. In his essay, “Afrofuturism 2.0 & the Black Speculative Arts Movement: Notes on a Manifesto,” Reynaldo Anderson gives a few definitions of Afrofuturism, specifically. Anderson says that, according to Kodwo Eshun, “Afrofuturism may be characterized as a program for recovering the histories of counter-futures created in a century hostile to Afrodiasporic projection” (qtd. in Anderson 228) and that the movement “is a critical project with the mission of laying the groundwork for a humanity that is not bound up with the ideals of white Enlightenment universalism, critical theory, science or technology” (Jones qtd. in Anderson 228-229). In light of imagining these different futures, I took some time to imagine my own future.
I’ve always taken comfort in the future; it just always seemed so much exciting than my present. My mom used to get onto me a child because she said I was “wishing my life away,” but I just get so excited for what’s to come. Of course, there have been times where the future terrifies me more than anything, so, when that happens, I ignore all the sticky uncertainty of the immediate future (“Where will I work over the summer?” “Where will I live next year?” “Where will I work?” “When will this quarantine be over and how will it affect me long-term?”) and imagine my end goal—the proverbial white picket fence life.
Today, I was particularly missing my cohort, and I thought about our perfect world. This is what I came up with and sent to our GroupMe, because, naturally, I’m going to share my “headcanon” about us with them:

Can't wait to write books on Harry Potter
  
and YA and trauma theory one day with
wonderful woman (and all our friends)!

“I can't help but imagine this group chat in like 20 years, and Rebecca is our publisher, and she's juggling V's book tour and constantly in here reminding us about deadlines, and we joke that "Lexi won't start her chapter until the day it's due," and Dustin is the model author and meets all HIS deadlines for his next best-selling novel, and any time we need a Marxist lens we just @ Cailey, and Mikayla is always here to explain the trauma theory that she wrote and revolutionized Children's Lit with, and Gina and Nick are always trading ideas for their scary horror novels, and Noelle knows that she can always ask any of us to Zoom with her students, and when Molly does she convinces them that she and Noelle are married, and we make plans to go to conferences together where we'll catch up with all our old profs and new colleague-friends and sit at the same table during the closing banquet and giggle the whole time.”

Right now, that’s the dream. It encompasses so much of what I want “when this is all over” (whatever that means). In this future, we’re all still friends, using the same old group chat we started in grad school. We’re all in the fields we dreamed of; we’re happy and successful, and we’re still helping each other be our best. I want more than anything to see that future come to fruition. I’ve seen it happen before. Dr. Tatonetti spoke so kindly of Daniel Heath Justice, telling us that they knew each other from grad school, and Justice even mentioned Dr. T in his acknowledgements of The Way of Thorn and Thunder. For me, that’s the dream, to watch someone you care about and have worked so closely with for so long succeed at all their goals and get the recognition they deserve.
One day, Dustin will do the "dress like a book
cover" challenge with his own book! Mark
my words! (And he'll definitely put us all to
shame with his timeliness! Rebecca will have 
her hands full for sure!)

This whole post reminds me of Taylor Swift’s song “Sweeter Than Fiction” from the movie One Chance (2013). In a way, the song kind of imagines a futurism for the people its about. It’s told from Swift’s POV as she watches someone she loves struggle toward their dreams. It starts off all too familiar for grad students: “Only sound that you hear is "no" / You never saw it coming / Slipped when you started running / And now you've come undone,” but the whole point of the song is the line in the pre-chorus “Someday you won't remember / This pain you thought would last forever and ever” (Swift). This song never fails to make me happy. It’s upbeat and optimistic, and it’s like my whole personality in a song. And the bridge—God, Taylor Swift writes the best bridges in all of pop music, and no one can change my mind about that—the bridge is what I’ve always wanted to say to someone, and it’s such a fitting message as graduation comes around: “And when they call your name / And they put your picture in a frame / You know that I'll be there time and again / […] / I will say, I knew it all along / Your eyes wider than distance / This life's sweeter than fiction” (Swift).



I know so many writers, both creative writers and scholars. I know people who want to be teachers and publishers and librarians. And these aren’t easy things to become. Years of grad school, multiple rejections, grueling years of “paying your dues” to the industry, none of that is easy. But I have to imagine a future that makes all of this worth it.


Maybe it’s naïve. But it’s the light at the end of the tunnel that’s getting me through right now.

So when I close with “May the odds be ever in our favor,” this time I don’t just mean it in the COVID-19 sense. I mean it in every way. From now until forever, I hope the odds are in our favor.

Katie





Works Cited:
Anderson, Reynaldo. “Afrofuturism 2.0 & the Black Speculative Arts Movement: Notes on a Manifesto.” Obsidian: Literature in the African Diaspora, vol. 42, iss. 1-2, Illinois State University, Spring-Winter 2016, pp. 228-236.

Swift, Taylor. “Sweeter Than Fiction.” One Chance: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, Sony, 22 October 2013.

Monday, April 6, 2020

Captain's Log, Day 7: There's No Going Back To Who and What You Were Before


Date: April 6, 2020
Time of post 11:45 PM
Quarantine Day: 22
Last Song I Listened To: “Infinity” by One Direction
Last Person I Communicated With: the Apocalypse class GroupMe
Last Thing I Ate: macaroni and cheese
Last Thing I Read: The Way of Thorn and Thunder by Daniel Heath Justice
Current Mood: meh
One Thing I’ve Accomplished Today: grocery shopping (and what a task that was)
One Thing I Want To Accomplish Today: watch the short film for class
One Reason I’m Stressed Today: I’m weirdly concerned that the UK Prime Minister has been hospitalized with COVD; like, I was for some reason convinced that world leaders wouldn’t get it
One Reason I’m Happy Today: my parents have been sending people in the cohort congratulations cards when they pass their defenses, and people are so surprised and happy when they get them! (Molly got hers this week!)



"There’s no going back to who and what you were before,” Unahi to Tarsa, pg. 32 of Daniel Heath Justice’s The Way of Thorn and Thunder (2011).

Dear Apocalypsers,


This week for class, we’re reading a high-fantasy novel by a friend of Dr. Tatonetti’s, and the above quote really stuck out to me. (Side-note: I cannot wait for the day that I can teach novels written by my friends. It’s an inevitability at this point. I’m putting it out into the universe.)

We keep saying “when this is over;” stores have signs that say “temporary hours,” and I’m reminded again of the tenacity and persistence of the human spirit. Yes, this will pass, as every other pandemic has in the past—but when we step out of our houses and apartments like Plato’s proverbial man inthe cave, will it be the same world? I’m no expert, but I hope we’ve changed. And I don’t just mean that I hope we hold onto this sense of community and respect for healthcare workers, grocery store cashiers, and postal workers or our newfound appreciation of teenagers in fast-food jobs and everyone else in food service—though all those things are good and should ideally continue. Tragedy always brings the nation closer…for a little while, at least.

And I don’t just mean that the world might get their act together and wash their hands regularly and that governments will be more prepared for future crises (though as long as Trump as in charge, I doubt the U.S. will).

I think the world will feel different. We’ll have lived through a major historical event (I hate myself a little for typing that; I’ve seen it so many times, and I’m kind of over it), and that changes someone. 

Changes us.

Hopefully for the better.

I know that I already feel different. I’m not sure how to articulate it right now, but I already feel more appreciative and more grateful. I also feel angrier and a little more cautious. I’m definitely even more aware of how very ill-prepared we are for disaster and how incredibly lucky we are not to have had a pandemic of this scope in 100-ish years.

Really, to quote Taylor Swift, “All I know since yesterday is / Everything has changed.” And that’s a very surreal thing to be aware of. I’m not sure how I’ll feel when we finally come out of isolation, how long these anxious feelings will linger. I went grocery shopping today, and the air in WalMart was just tense. It was so quiet and empty. People weren’t bumping into friends and having conversations; there weren’t screaming children. Half the people were wearing surgical masks and the other half were abruptly stopping in the middle of aisles to stay 6ft away from another shopper. How long will grocery shopping make me nervous? How long before the thought of my parents going out to the store won’t make my stomach tighten in knots? I’ve always been afraid that I’d lose them early in life, but I’ll be damned if it’s COVID that takes them from me.

All I know about this image is that this is Matt Smith
as the Eleventh Doctor, but I liked the quote.
Unahi tells Tarsa that she can’t go back to who she was before, that she’s not the same person she was. That seems to be a running theme in this class: After Deckard falls in love with Rachel, he can’t go back to retiring Replicants; once K believes he’s Deckard’s son (and half-human), he can’t take back the hope that gives him; society can’t go back to the way it was before the apocalypse in The Road; Katniss can’t stop being the Mockingjay and go back to before the Reaping when she was just a poor girl in District 12; Jane can’t change the fact that she was sent to Summerland; Tarsa can’t go back to just being a Redthorn warrior now that she’s a Wielder.
We can’t go back to a time before COVID-19.


And I guess we could argue about whether any of us ever had a choice in all this—Fate vs. free will and all that jazz—but it doesn’t really matter. It’s kind of like in Doctor Who where there are keyevents that can’t be messed with or the whole universe will be screwed up. Or like the entire plot of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (2017) where two 11-year-olds just mess with the past and drastically alter the future. We can’t go back and change what happened, so maybe we just have to take each day as it comes and deal with the future when it gets here.

May the odds be ever in our favor,
Katie


Works Cited

Justice, Daniel Heath. The Way of Thorn and Thunder: The Kynship Chronicles. University of New Mexico Press, 2013.

Sunday, April 5, 2020

Captain's Log, Day 6: Me and COVID-19 Have Bad Blood


One of my characters was Taylor Swift from her  "Bad Blood"
 music video
. I'm clearly no makeup artist, but this was fun,
even if think I did use all of my remaining liquid eye liner. 
Date: April 5, 2020
Time of post: 8:45 PM
Quarantine Day: 21
Last Song I Listened To: “Falling Like the Stars” by James Arthur
Last Person I Communicated With: I sent a snapchat to several people
Last Thing I Ate: salmon with sweet potatoes and brown rice
Last Thing I Read: The Way of Thorn and Thunder by Daniel Heath Justice
Current Mood: pretty angry, tbh
One Thing I’ve Accomplished Today: recorded a PowerPoint for my class
One Thing I Want To Accomplish Today: make a grocery list
One Reason I’m Stressed Today: I’ve forced myself to think about my future, and I hate that
One Reason I’m Happy Today: several of us challenged each other to do “character makeup” as a 
quarantine game




Dear Apocalypsers,

When I told my best friend that I was writing an “apocalypse diary,” her first response was, “Wow that’s perfect for you! I’m sure you have a whole entry comparing this to Harry Potter!” (What can I say? I have a certain reputation.)

Now feels like the time for the Harry Potter post.
My other makeup character was Charlotte "Lottie" La Bouff
from Disney's The Princess and the Frog (2009). Based on
the fact that I already owned a tiara and pearls and stuffed
 frog, I think it's safe to say that this look was easier for me.
Lottie and I might be long lost cousins!

My little “check-in” log says that I’m pretty angry, today. And I am. I guess I have been for a while, but it’s just been little things, and I’ve finally snapped and decided to admit that this whole COVID-19 situation is really pissing me off. Whether it’s thinking about my 60-something, Type 1 Diabetic mother with other pre-existing conditions going out to get prescriptions for her and my 60-something father on kidney dialysis or having to listen to the most recent incomprehensibly stupid and ignorant thing that Donald Trump has said (though I’m trying to limit my news consumption as much as possible) or just losing one more day of what was supposed to be one of the best semesters of my life, there’s something every day that gets under my skin. But I brush it off, determined not to let it ruin my day or my week—I mean, I’m quarantined alone, so my mental health really, really can’t afford to let resentment and anger and anxiety build up, because I don’t have anyone on hand at 2 or 3 or 4 in the morning to bounce those feelings off of or to talk me down.

This week, though, it was a damn Facebook post about Harry Potter that pushed me over the edge.

The creator of the post, Joe Thomas (whoever he is), compares the experience of graduating seniors to Harry, Ron, and Hermione in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (2007). Thomas wrote, “What you are doing right now is helping the world stand up against a deadly enemy in order to protect countless lives. You are Harry Potter. You are Hermione Granger. You are Ron Weasley. […] You are being true to your school in the most unexpected of ways, and you will graduate with the honor of having played a key part in this fight. Your work so far and chance for further accomplishments haven’t been dashed. A world of opportunity will await you when we get past this” (Thomas). I get what I think he was trying to do. It was supposed to be another one of those messages of hope to graduating seniors who suddenly had the end of their high school or college experience taken from them. But what gets me about this post that the others of this “genre” didn’t is how Thomas so clearly views this as choice, as some big heroic act that’s poetic and beautiful in its own way.
A screenshot of Joe Thomas' Facebook post
that made me very upset.


But he’s missing Rowling’s whole freaking point.

They were children—seventeen years old dealing with the weight and hope of an entire world on their shoulders. Children who were never told the whole story, who figured out far too much on their own, who had to deal with death and threats on their life and a corrupt government, who were chosen for this ridiculous task before they even had a choice. The older I get, the more Deathly Hallows makes me cry, because it never should have been them. They shouldn’t have had to give up everything. They were kids.

Yes, these seniors are more like Harry, Ron, and Hermione than Thomas’ measly, wannabe deep Facebook post even begins to let on.

And what makes me so, so very mad, is that he doesn’t acknowledge their feelings. He doesn’t make it sound like these kids are “allowed” to be angry or sad. And that makes me, so mad that I’m seething as I write this.

I’m mad that graduation was cancelled.
I’m mad that I didn’t get to have my defense in person and hug my committee.
I’m mad that I haven’t heard Anne Longmuir’s rolling Scottish lilt in a month or that I haven’t been able to pop by Anne Phillips’ office just to say hi and have her tell me she’s proud of me.
I’m so, so, so mad that I couldn’t celebrate the biggest accomplishment of my life to date with the friends who helped me get here.
I’m mad that I don’t get to see my students twice a week and hear about their lives.
I’m mad that I’ve been to Aggieville for the last time.
I’m mad that I’m missing out on speakers that have been planned for months.
I’m mad that I can’t go to PCA in 10 days and have a “last hoorah” with my friends while presenting at a national conference.
I am so, so mad that this is happening when I deserve so much better.

And I deserve to be mad. I’m heartbroken. God, I know far too much heartbreak for someone who’s never had a proper first kiss.

I can be mad about what’s been taken from me while recognizing that it’s a necessity. I know that national and global safety is, objectively, more important that any of those things I listed. But that doesn’t help my heart.
So, Mr. Thomas, if you ever read this, know that you’re right. Those high school and college seniors and those finishing their M.A.s and Ph.D.s and graduating from law school and med school and culinary school and tech school and cosmetology school are an awful lot like Harry, Ron, and Hermione—and Ginny, who’s family pulled her from school and couldn’t leave their home because they were being tracked; or Susan Bones, who left school after finding out her parents had died; or Neville Longbottom, who tried to keep the morale up by fighting back in whatever way he could; or Luna Lovegood, who lost her home but her hope in her friend—but don’t try to make them think they’re heroes. That’s a burden and a pressure that they don’t need. They’re kids. And they should be mad that this is happening to them.

We all should be.

May the odds be ever in our favor,
Katie



Works Cited/Links Embedded:

Dale, Daniel et. all. “Fact-check: Trump says some states aren't in jeopardy from the virus, denies saying it would go away by April.” CNN, 4 April 2020, https://www.cnn.com/2020/04/03/politics/facts-check-trump-coronavirus-briefing-april-3/index.html

Thomas, Joe. A Facebook post comparing high school seniors to Harry, Ron, and Hermione in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series. Facebook, 27 March 2020, 8:43AM, https://www.facebook.com/joeedthom?__tn__=%2CdCH-R-R&eid=ARDYUk_vWOG4gM8VFVuF1MsXw_CAvQqhNl-d6RV1VGT1sqkllt1dgdeSynXG20OKg75lf3ZvUGLEOLpH&hc_ref=ARRlPokSvY9K78EU8VjrwEm2Lpwkh3UL20JHh8kjgG3XaU1gw4o2FzgGiK1JO1i2N7E&fref=nf. Accessed 5 April 2020.


Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Captain's Log, Day 5: Sleepless in Manhattan


Date: April 1, 2020
Time of post (well, when I started writing): 11:40 PM
Quarantine Day: 17
Last Song I Listened To: “You’re Not Sorry” by Taylor Swift
Last Person I Communicated With: my best friend from high school on Snapchat
Last Thing I Ate: spaghetti
Last Thing I Read: Chapter 1: The Album Amicorum from June Schlueter’s The Album Amicorum & the London of Shakespeare’s Time (for my History of the Book class)
Current Mood: so so so so so so so tired
One Thing I’ve Accomplished Today: a lot of school work…and I watched The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012)
One Thing I Want To Accomplish Today: a good night’s sleep
One Reason I’m Stressed Today: stayed up all night last night (not totally on purpose) and am really, really regretting it now; my naps did not do good things for my sleep schedule
One Reason I’m Happy Today: an alum from the English Department saw the title of my M.A. project mentioned in the department blog and reached out to me asking to read it!

Dear Apocalypsers,

There has simultaneously been not a lot happening this week and so much happening. Yesterday, I went out to get gas. Literally, I just drove across the street to Dillon’s so I could use my Plus Points before they expired—but the weather was so nice. Right about 65 degrees with a cool breeze, and I felt it: I was going stir crazy. I needed to get out.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t sleep last night. I was felt so cooped up. The blankets were too hot; the fan was too cold; the pillows were too lumpy; there was too much noise or not enough. Finally, at almost 6AM, I gave up on sleep, threw on a sweatshirt, made so much coffee, and went to watch the sunrise on the Kanza. I can’t tell you the last time I was up for the sunrise. Maybe the last time I went to the beach. But, this morning, I felt like I was the only person in the world. It should have been really, really lonely, but it was freeing. And—okay—a little lonely, but in a reflective way more than a sad way.

And it was so beautiful. Like, I understand why the Romantics and the Transcendentalists were so fascinated by nature to the point that they capitalized it.

I, may, uh, have fancied myself a little bit of a poem this morning, too. I contemplated not  putting it here, because I know that at least a handful of other people will read this (and I’m not a creative writer), and it is on the Internet forever, but then I figured that if this my legacy of the Coronavirus Apocalypse of 2020, then I had to include it.


So, here it is. I haven’t titled it.


Some of the sunrise pictures I took this morning just outside of Manhattan.



“Shorts so short my mother'd be appalled if she knew I went out in public in them.
(It's too cold for them, I know.
I haven't shaved.
But is it public if I'm alone?)

A college hoodie.
(From a school I'll never graduate from.
Full of friends I never said goodbye to.
And a lingering question: "what if?")

A sunrise over a state I've been fighting not to call home.
(Because I always end up moving anyway.
Because people always leave.
Because I still have to use my GPS to get anywhere, and you don't use a GPS in your home.)



I want to plant roots.
I'm a tree.
(At least I want to be.
Need to be.
Should be.)
But tornados like to take trees down
With wind and rain and thunder and lightning and all the dashed hopes for a future I planned.

But in that morning hour--not quite dark and not quite day--
The birds still sing
Like there isn't a storm coming.
The frogs still call
The same calls I was taught to identify as a little girl on my father's knee.
Because that's our love language:
Cricket frogs
and
Chorus frogs
and
Spring peepers
(Acris something and...
Pseudacris...something [I'd remember if I was home, wouldn't I?]
and Pseudacris crucifer [finally--something I know])

And the sky looks like Easter
But my phone can't quite capture it
And that feels poetic somehow
(Because maybe it hasn't been three days yet
Or maybe I'm not a Disciple
Or maybe I'm hanging on the other cross)

I can only live this beginning once
I wonder if the camera works better in low light, in sunset

Could I capture that,
Hold that forever?
Would the ending look prettier on film?
Maybe
But the birds don't sing then
At least the frogs still call
But can you plant a tree in a field in a state that isn't quite not home but isn't quite home because the birds outside my window aren't the same birds outside my parents' window and the frogs that call aren't the same frogs that called while I sat on my father's knee and learned their scientific names for the first time and actually remembered them?

Maybe my mother wouldn't be so appalled by my shorts after all”


Here's a picture from the lake. I get why the
poets like lakes so much.
After I watched the sunrise, I still didn’t want to go home, so I drove out to Tuttle Creek Lake. I barely saw another car on the road. It was peaceful. I haven’t felt peaceful in so long. I listened to Taylor Swift’s Red album as I drove. It’s perfect for this melancholy mood, because it feels like autumn. I sang so loud and didn’t care that I couldn’t hit the key if it was the broad side of a barn. It was really, really nice to let go.


That’s kind of the highlight for today. In other news, I read a whole book in a day on Tuesday. I haven’t done that in ages, but it’s my preferred method of reading. I like nothing more than to shut out the world and experience a book all at once. It’s like I told my mom, you wouldn’t watch just one scene of a movie at a time. The problem, of course, with my preferred method of reading it that it takes 2 hours to watch a movie, but maybe 10 or 12 hours to read a whole book. And I normally don’t have days and days to devote to reading for fun. I read 3 books in March, though—2 of them for no reason other than I wanted to! That’s huge for me.

So I guess that’s one small silver lining to this suffocating quarantine. And, if I can “get out of the house” once every 17 days, I guess that’s good, too. I should probably do that more often, though. Not let it all bottle up.

We’ll see how the mood strikes me, I guess.

May the odds be ever in our favor,
Katie

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Captain's Log, Day 4: It's My Quarantine and I'll Cry If I Want To


Date: March 29, 2020
Time of post: 9:00 PM*
Quarantine Day: 14
Last Song I Listened To: “Wild Things” by Alessia Cara
Last Person I Communicated With: my mom (via Facebook Messenger)
Last Thing I Ate: sausage gumbo (from a can) and strawberries
Last Thing I Read: text messages from my friend Kelsey
Current Mood: wired and restless and nostalgic and sentimental
One Thing I’ve Accomplished Today: recorded and posted this week’s PowerPoint for class
One Thing I Want To Accomplish Today: I’d like to start another book
One Reason I’m Stressed Today: my apartment complex wants to know if I’m renewing my lease (that isn’t up until the end of July) by the end of the month, and this just feels like a really inconvenient time to ask people what we’re doing with our lives
One Reason I’m Happy Today: my brother’s birthday is tomorrow!

Dear Apocalypsers,

The days are starting to blur. I’m not saying that to be dramatic. If I don’t check my phone, there’s a good chance I couldn’t tell you what day of the week it is. In some ways, that’s nice. It’s almost like being on vacation where you don’t have to be hyperaware of every moment and what needs to get done. I’ve actually been way more productive from home. I have more time for my own classwork, and what might take me an entire day at the office to do only takes a couple hours at home. The trade-off is that I’m lonelier, more wrapped up in my own thoughts. I don’t get to see my friends, don’t get to ask about their days or their classes, don’t get to make random trips to Radina’s. And I miss that so much it aches. I’m fairly certain this is what heartbreak feels like.

But, thankfully, I’m a pretty optimistic person. I can usually spin things to see the brighter side of a situation. But sometimes I have days like yesterday where I cry four times for no apparent reason. Okay, there are reasons. I listen to Niall Horan’s song “Dear Patience,” and sobbed a little. Well, actually, I cried because of his Instagram caption where he said, “Dear Patience is a song I wrote at a time when I felt like I needed to be more patient with things and now that we’re all holed up at home , it feels like we could all use a little patience” (@niallhoran). As my mother will tell you, patience has never been my virtue, so this whole (very out of my control) pandemic situation has been hard for me, and my “you-can’t-control-everything-so-focus-on-what-you-can” attitude is starting to chip away. Anyway, that song made me cry yesterday.


Then, I was reading These Witches Don’t Burn (2019) by Isabel Sterling (I finished it yesterday; it’s lovely!), and I came across the sentence “I don’t want a new room” (317). That strikes a personal chord, I guess, because—no spoilers—the main character ends up moving to a new house against her will, and I remember what that was like. After the tornado, I just wanted things to be normal. I know exactly what “I don’t want a new room” means, and it’s about a new room. It’s about wanting control again. About wanting things to feel familiar and right again—and also knowing that you can’t have that, because what was once normal is gone now. That’s kind of how I feel about being quarantined right now: I don’t want to do it because it’s not normal, and I crave normalcy—but I will do it because I know I have.

(Oh boy, halfway through yesterday’s tears!)

Yesterday evening I cried because I saw that Lexi was playing board games with her siblings over Zoom. They’re in 3 different states, but they all got online to spend time together (a real feat in my mind, because her youngest brother is 15!) I have a special place in my heart for sibling-relationships, and the Bedell kids are all really close. I only have one brother. He’s 2 years younger than me, and we are polar opposites. We fought all the time growing up, but we’re finally in a place where we get along. I think we understand each other better now—though I will never understand why he waits until the last minute to do anything. It stresses me out just thinking about it.
And, finally, for reasons I still don’t understand, I decided to read my dad’s high school graduation letter to me at 4 AM. (For context, I haven’t gone to bed earlier than 2AM in weeks. I’m sleeping until at least 11AM and generally living the nocturnal lifestyle I believe I was meant for.)


A picture of me and my dad c. 2000


(Get ready for this. I’m about to bring this post full circle.)

I realized—at 4AM—that maybe I owe my need to emphasize the good in life to my parents, especially my dad. In my high school graduation letter, he said, “Strive to forget the negatives and remember the positives—you’ll be happier. Anger will eat holes in you, and in your soul. Dump the bad stuff like the waste that it is. Learn from it, but then rid yourself of it.” He might not have articulated that until I was 18, but my dad’s been living that example my whole life. He’s always quicker with a happy story than a mean word (unless we’re driving, in which case, I also get my road rage from him!), and that’s what I try to emulate. It’s coming in handy right now, even though I almost have to go out of my way to create the happy memories.

When I was talking to my mom this weekend, she said that it was funny that journals were our final assignment because she had seen on some talk show that they were encouraging people to keep journals to show future generations. This, as everyone keeps saying, is history. And while I by no means see this as the next The Diary of Anne Frank, I see the appeal of keeping a record to pass down. And with that in mind, I’d like my children and grandchildren to see that I’m trying to make the best of this. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows—hence the crying four times in one day—but I want them to see that I didn’t let this break me, that I kept some piece of my joy throughout this ordeal. To quote Peeta from the Catching Fire (2009) movie, “If I’m gonna die, I wanna still be me” (Lawrence)—not that I think I’m going to die, but it’s the sentiment, you know?



Maybe this is the fire I’m meant to carry. (Gosh, all roads lead to The Road (2006), don’t they?)

May the odds be ever in our favor,

Katie

*After looking over my previous posts, I realized that my “last thing I ate” entry makes it seem like I’m living off junk food, when, in reality, I’m usually writing these posts after dinner/late at night, so my most recent “meal” is just a snack. So, I decided to include a time entry from now on, so my children and grandchildren can only judge my sleeping habits, not my eating habits (though I’m sure that’s inevitable, too).



Works Cited:

Catching Fire. Directed by Francis Lawrence, Lionsgate, 2013.

@niallhoran. “Dear Patience Dear Patience is a song I wrote at a time when I felt like I needed to be more patient with things and now that we’re all holed up at home , it feels like we could all use a little patience . Thanks to my bud @jimmyfallon for having me on his show to perform this the other day . Hope you’re all well xInstagram, 28 March 2020, 1:06 PM. https://www.instagram.com/p/B-SkJSPHKbZ/

Sterling, Isabel. The Witches Don’t Burn. Razorbill, 2019.