If It’s Wednesday, I’m in Albuquerque

I’m not really in Albuquerque. By the time I post this, it might not even be Wednesday. I wouldn’t really know, because I am losing track of the days. At the beginning of the pandemic I should have started scratching them out on the wall of my cave like Tom Hanks did in the movie, Cast Away. I have an iPhone and a computer, but in the early morning when I’m making breakfast, it does not occur to me to check the date.

In these pandemic times, maybe it’s only the retired, unemployed or childless who feel like their brain is in resting mode. Previously, we’ve had events in our lives that let us know what day of the week it was. For me, that was gym class. I always knew that leg day was Tuesday because I would wake up filled with dread. And now, I never know it’s Tuesday. Not until Wednesday, at the very least. And my legs are getting very fussy at the lack of attention. Come fall, I’m going to have to do something. No, really.

For now, I’m like a vacant lot with no building prospects. No fence, no tools to indicate that creation is about to take place. I work in my yard and garden every day, but I’m getting to the point where I would like someone to come over and boss me around. (This is conjecture. Don’t any of you do this.) But I obviously need direction of some kind. I am so tired of my own pep talks. Some mornings while I brush my teeth, I’ll stare at myself in the mirror and say something like, ‘Today is going to be special!’ Spit. Rinse. And then I’ll say, ‘You know you’re full of crap, right?’

To emphasize the feeling that we’re truly in a pandemic, the bugs are in the middle of a full speed ahead, evolutionary process. They’re bigger, faster, sneakier and they bite like they want you to remember them for the next month. People meet on the street and compare battle scars. ‘I made the mistake of gardening in the morning,’ they’ll say, throwing their hands in the air sheepishly. And really, what are any of us thinking? Never mind Covid 19, we need full body suits to combat the mosquitoes and all the tiny variations of black fly that seem suspiciously new to northern Manitoba.

I know, I know. We’ve always had them. But like everything else, even the bug world is freaking out. And like a two year old trying to be the boss of everything, I want everyone, including mother nature, to stop doing things I don’t like. Yes, some of the world’s craziness has been brought on by ourselves…we’re not guilt free… but the toddler in me doesn’t care about that. Like a contestant doing badly on a reality television show, I want to ring a bell and quit the game. Get off the island. Tell the bachelor/bachelorette that frankly, I just don’t give a damn.
On the other hand, the sun is shining and my kayak awaits. I have bug spray in my bag, and a bottle of water that I could exchange for gin at a moment’s notice. Maybe the toddler in me just needs a time out. (I’m stomping one foot, now.) Ahhhh. It’s lovely outside, with the sunshine and the gin…er, the water. Today is going to be special! (Oh, shut up.)

Published by Judith Anne Pettersen

Judith Pettersen is an author living in Canada. She blogs about her life in the north and the ups and downs of being a writer.

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