The Stress Dance

So recently between riots, 'rona, insane presidents, and the passing of my mother, I've been going through some tough times. On a daily basis, I alternate between anger, despair, anxiety, and sadness.

On a recent trip to visit my daughter and her "stress dogs (I label them this as they're so out-of-control, it's very therapeutic to constantly scream at them to STOP IT or SHUT THE HELL UP!)," I told my daughter how I was just so...so...so damn anxiety-ridden.

She looked at me, finally said, "Dad, you know what I do when I'm feeling that way? Something that really, really, really works?"

Desperate for relief, I scoot up in my seat. "What?"

"Okay, stand up."

I do.

"Now, stick your arms out by your sides," she instructs.

Again, I do this, believing she's about to show me something truly effective and maybe even a little profound.

"Spread your legs."

I follow her advice feeling like Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, but knowing absolutely I look nothing like him.

"Now, squat."

"Squat?"

"Squat," she demands.

Okay, I'm 59, overweight, and squatting's not exactly on my daily regimen. But I'm all in now. I struggle and force myself into a semblance of a squat.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Yeah... I think."

"Now scream and stomp your feet!"

Blindly, I follow like a brainwashed political supporter does these days. I stomp, roar, feel myself wobbling like a Weeble, and hope I don't fall down. Time stands still as I'm bellowing like Fred looking for Wilma. The house begins to shake. One of the dogs runs behind the sofa, the other runs toward me to play.

I imagine--no, I know--it's not a pretty sight. Down in a squat, I probably look like a 'roid-raged Rumplestiltskin after his gold has been stolen. I keep doing it, trying to let my pent-up anger release into the rafters.

Until, I notice my daughter's rolling in her chair, hysterically laughing.

I stop. "Wait... Did you just make this up?"

Between giggles, she pushes out, "Yes. But you feel better, don't you?"

After a minute, I straightened, pondered. "Yeah...yeah, I do!"

Speaking of feeling better in these trying times, why not give yourself a break and indulge in my mystery comedy book, Bad Day in a Banana Hammock. Hammock is the first in an ongoing "different kind of cozy book," as one reviewer called it, detailing the misadventures of a lunkhead male stripper and his much put-upon, very angry, very pregnant sleuth sister. Available here on Amazon!

 

Meeting the Pandemic Part-Way...

Well, we all want this damn pandemic over with, that's something everyone can agree upon. Everyday I hope scientists discover a vaccine so the suffering of victims and their loved ones can end. And I would hope the day-to-day fear everyone has just by going out and getting groceries comes to a conclusion.

Months ago, I thought the situation was just untenable, near hopeless. I couldn't envision a world where we had to wear masks and even those weren't fool-proof protection. But we've managed so far. Even though there are other factors (*ahem*, I'm looking at you NOTUS {the Numbskull of the United States}) going on in our world trying to thwart the best efforts to stop the spread of covid 19.

Not too long ago, I woke up for the first time in a mellow sort of acceptance state. It is what it is. Time to pull up my big boy britches and carry on, hampered by masks or whatever, let's show 'em that gung-ho, never-say-never, can-do spirit! How did this happen?

It wasn't a sudden epiphany or revelation or premonition or visitation from Joseph Smith or an anal probe by aliens or anything. No, the night before I'd had a dream, business as usual, except everyone was in masks. And the masks weren't the point of the dream, nothing out of the ordinary. The pandemic was the new normal.

People are resilient. I think everyone's tackling this pandemic on their own terms, generally going through variations of the six stages of grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, day-drinking, and finally, acceptance. I know I did.

I'm not happy about it, but let's buck up and carry on. Particularly with masks.

And I applaud the creativity that's coming out in certain areas, making the most of what it is. I've seen a lotta great masks. My daughter, for instance, has taken up the doggy mask. 

My daughter's fave mask.

I've seen people accessorizing their masks to match their outfits. Creativity is soaring!

But about those masks... People, don't make me repeat myself: WEAR YOUR DAMN MASKS OVER YOUR NOSES! It doesn't do you--or us--any good if you don't. The nose allows things in and out too, you know. I don't know how many times I've seen ruddy-faced guys with masks nestled below their noses, their nostrils pluming like a charging rhinoceros with asthma. Geeze, I can't believe I even have to say this. Pretty soon, I'm gonna start hitting people up and telling them to yank it up (of course, then I'll have to yank myself up off the ground; have you SEEN the size of these guys?).

And stop listening to our wondrous president. These days Trump's preaching that people should not wear masks. Recently, NOTUS attempted to bully a reporter into taking his mask off. Trump's rage rallies are full of maskless buffoons (thanks for the thousands of new cases, commander-in-chump!), as he preens onstage like an orange peacock, calling people names and bragging about what a genius he is because he could name a lion on a cognitive test. It wasn't too long ago Trump said wearing a mask was patriotic. But whaddaya expect from a guy who changes his mind by the minute.

My preferred mask (even though my wife is afraid for me to wear it in public. I say, "Bring it, fascist cretins!" (Of course, that's before I get beat up in a grocery store.)

 

Anyway, hang in there folks. This week, I took real enlightenment from something my neighbor said--"You know, living through the pandemic may well make today's kids smarter, more adaptable, and more empathetic."." Talk about finding a silver lining. I'll take it.