At the end of the last week, I found myself . . . exhausted. So many things piled up/went wrong in those five days, I just needed not to be present for a while. I don't know if that makes sense. I guess you could call it a mental health vacation. And I plan to take a more extended one next week.
This morning, I thought I was prepared to return to work. I picked out my outfit last night, packed my lunch. I got to bed at a fairly decent time for me. Set my alarm for 4:45 a.m. This morning, I stumbled through my normal routine, got myself out to my car, and drove to work. When I got to the hospital, I parked in my normal spot, put on my mask, and took a picture of myself, to prove that I was ready. Then, I realized that I left my work badge at home.
Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem. I would simply have filled out a form, explaining my oversight, and written in my hours for the day. However, we are not living in normal times. I can't get into the hospital without my badge.
So, I started my car up, drove home (a 25-minute trip), retrieved my badge, and drove back to the hospital (another 25-minute trip). That sort of set me up for a day of feeling just slightly off-kilter. (Yes, I know. I'm always off-kilter, so nobody really noticed the difference.) However, I never really regained my balance. Imagine standing in a room where the floor is just slightly slanted, where the walls don't meet at 90-degree angles, where the ceiling is trapezoidal. That's how I felt.
I think I received some good news today, but I'm not quite convinced it's actually going to happen. Yet, this almost good news buoyed my spirits some. Enough to get me through my eight hours in the medical office. I'm a little hesitant to celebrate, because, last week, most of my good news quickly fermented into a steaming pile of excrement.
That is what this pandemic has meant for a lot of people. Everything is different, and yet nothing looks different, aside from the face masks. Abnormal has become normal. And normal has become unhealthy. Even dangerous. So, I choose to be wary. Cautious. Even suspicious.
Saint Marty picked out his outfit for tomorrow. Made his lunch. And left his badge in his car. He's ready for tomorrow. Perhaps.
poem from Kyrie
by: Ellen Bryant Voigt
The barber, the teacher, the plumber, the preacher,
the man in a bowler, man in a cap,
the banker, the baker, the cabinet-maker,
the fireman, postman, clerk in the shop,
soldier and sailor, teamster and tailor,
man shoveling snow or sweeping his step,
carpenter, cobbler, liar, lawyer,
laid them down and never got up.
O, O, the world wouldn't stop--
the neighborhood grocer, the neighborhood cop
laid them down and never did rise.
And some of their children, and some of their wives,
fell into bed and never got up,
fell into bed and never got up.
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