(Wild) Firebird
The highlights of COVID proved to be interesting to say the least. The list includes the following:
The garden spider in my window finally died and I was a little bit sad and mostly relieved. I studied it like I was a meditating monk all winter, watching it weave different webs, never moving and making sure it wasn't planning on having babies. I went from having nightmares about the spider attacking me to wondering if it was there every day. (Yes it occurred to me that I would go so far as to say it was a Charlotte’s Web-esque companion). I then tried to convince my roommate to remove it and he wanted nothing to do with it (what is it with guys and spiders??!) So one COVID spring morning, I caused quite the ruckus and provided unexpected entertainment to the construction workers next door by pushing it out the open window with a broom handle while screaming at the top of my lungs with nervousness, all to see that it was extremely dead and not a threat to me and never truly was.
We broke nearly all of the fire alarms in my apartment because the BBQ my roommate put on the porch fumigated the one open window in my room with billowing smoke causing all the fire alarm to go off non-stop, even after twenty minutes of the smoke being cleared. We then decided to remove them one by one after being deafened by them and the intensity of the trapped smoke nearly fried them all and wore every single one of their batteries out.
The constructions workers putting the predictable square condos up next door at a painfully glacial pace enjoyed watching me stuff my face with chips and salsa one fine spring morning after my daily workout. I was zoned out for AT LEAST ten minutes of pure Mexican-junk-food-face-stuffing action when I look up to see them all staring wide-eyed at me through my kitchen window. I shamelessly stared straight back at them, while continuing to shovel chips into my face, unfazed by any possible judgement.
Remember the neighbor I wrote about that her boyfriend died of a heart attack and I stared at the whole ordeal for way too long through my window like a weirdo? And then I ran into her and I swore to make her a cake? Well, I never did. I was so swamped with work and dance right before the pandemic, that I couldn't see straight. I looked through the stairwell one day and her apartment was vacant. I felt another tinge of guilt. Who offers to make someone a sympathy cake and then doesn't deliver on it? Well, I did.
Rearranging my apartment one hundred times. Going through old journals and photos, organizing my clothes in order of color, feng-shuing the living room and throwing away all of my plants that have died over the year. Tucking away the pandemic necessities in the storage closet and praying that I never have to use them again, the mere sight of sanitizer and paper towels igniting nausea and anxiety.
Reuniting with old friends via the telephone. Laughing, crying, feeling those old nostalgic vibes of the past. Wishing time wasn't going by so fast. Wishing we all lived next door to each other. Saying "what happened to the last ten years?" A lot. Feeling life going by too fast and a bit helpless about it but enjoying all the stories and hearing of new chapters from the book of their lives. Wishing I could forever live in that wondrous glow of nostalgia. Of youthful bliss. Knowing it's impossible but accepting it at last.
Finally reading a classic book, (Wuthering Heights in case you’re curious) because after feeling like (excuse this horrible expression) fucking shit about not having dance class, I would sit on my porch every morning with a cup of coffee glaring menacingly at people happily walking their dogs as sawdust or paint would fly effortlessly on my porch and onto myself nonstop from the daily grind of the annoying construction. I FINALLY cracked open the book one morning and it wiped my month long, bad attitude away. I read slowly while staring at the birds and watering my plants. I took my time with the story absorbing myself into each chapter, something that I've never carved out time to do before, when I always used to feel rushed every second of the day.
My daily runs had gone from utterly boring to something I looked forward to. I had my clothes laid out to a fine art, testing the weather outside beforehand and would be especially happy if it was slightly rainy. I would have my gear out, my hair up, sunblock, my arm band that contained my phone, my keys and one weapon of choice in hand. In the beginning, I was dog-tired during after the run, slightly embarrassed and constantly staring at the time left on my phone. Over two months, I became less winded, the time would fly by, and I felt more confident in my pace and routes.
Therapy Thursdays are a personal highlight for me. My only time I can complain and not sound like a total curmudgeon. Also, the only contact I have with the outside world during the constant state of quarantine. Although I wasn't always up for talking for an hour straight, I always felt worlds better afterward. My therapist is on the younger side and always an empathetic straight-shooter. He always has my best interest at heart and helps me sort through an array of emotions I have felt since the beginning of the pandemic. He also proved to be a huge help in launching me back into reaching fruitful goals and provided tools for overcoming doubt and feeling helpless.
I feel like I'm in a dream and I can't believe this all is happening so fast. I told my boyfriend I don't want to be one of those people (a statistic) that when we talk about the past we just reference in a lump sum (I.e. The flu of 1918) and we know nothing about the people or their lives. It's a bit melancholy I suppose but I can't stand the thought of it.
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No jobs, no pay. Sparse unemployment. A broken toenail from falling up the stairs outside of my apartment the day before my birthday proves to test my patience as I cannot run and could barely play in my volleyball tournament on my birthday, at the beach.
I never knew how much I valued my toenail until I couldn’t walk everyday due to it constantly bleeding, and it seemed my leg had just healed from the sink debacle.
Hopefully it heals before dance starts this winter! (Sobbing softly)
My birthday consisted of cleaning the apartment for a friend’s arrival (and because my roommate has been drinking again and being absolutely dreadfully slob like) and trying not to hate the construction workers next door for an entire day. I got a few gifts and my boyfriend surprised me with an enormous tiramisu cake he had special ordered from a bakery. It was not only beautiful but delectable! However, we both could hardly eat more than two pieces over the course of two weeks! It was so decadent. So technically, I had cake by the ocean, which is one of my dreams in life.
We lost out last volleyball game —no surprise there— although we won the last match thanks to a random Princeton rugby player who decided to help us out. Why he wanted to, I’ll never understand, but I didn’t mind the extra support. My boyfriend’s friends came down to watch our game which I thought was endearing. We all then hung out on the beach for the sunset, talking about life and laughing to the sound of the waves. I will miss my sweet summer volleyball team of once total strangers, now friends. So albeit Corona Virus, my birthday was a memorable one, that’s for sure.
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I have been cracking down on my diet. I need to get in shape for dance by January somehow. Even if I do not get accepted into University. I mean, actual. dance. shape. Although I swear that is what I have been trying to do all of these years!
My only outlet for fitness is the outdoors (and for most of us, because of Covid) and now we were sitting idly by, watching our computer screens and wearing even more masks because of the wild fire smoke in the area. I was feeling desperate. I had one ballet class (the only ballet class I knew of in the city) and it was tonight for one hour and I could hardly keep my composure as my toe nail throbbed and waited to fall off. I didn’t care. It would have to take a whole lot more than a broken toenail to keep me from dance class.
I could cry.
I couldn’t even remember how to dance really. Honestly. My body had gone through some weird nine month transitions of constantly dancing, to running, to a hiatus from running, to lifting weights, to essentially losing all of my muscles mass, to weird phases of being laid-up and lethargic. I was all sorts of confused and so was my body.
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So after my first ballet class in 9 months, I was the only one to show up due to everyone’s fear or COVID still. I just felt excited to be there and also like a fat, wet noodle.
My legs were trembling, and my calves were cramping, and I almost twisted my ankle in center (how embarassssssing) but I felt like I was floating afterwards and I went to bed tired and relaxed, on cloud 9 and remembering the feeling of bliss and happiness. Surprisingly, all of my muscle memory came back to me but it was still a struggle!
I received my first acupuncture treatment in the downpour Seattle pouring rain (couldn’t have asked for a better backdrop) and I cried and told her about my history of my body image issues and hormones and she put needles in all of my gut/intestinal spots and a few emotional points. I literally felt like another person after and walked around the rest of the day in a post-acupuncture, relaxed haze. I looked a little pale and felt tired and passed out at night from exhaustion. I felt amazing the next day and sensed maybe this lady is onto something.
The wildfire smoke reared its ugly head again in our city. I FINALLY get to go back to ballet full-time this week and begged my bosses to let me switch my schedule around (for the millionth time) due to some of the adult-classes failing to enroll enough adults. I will be enrolled with the 16-year-olds, but I don’t really care. My toenail finally fell off this morning and I was ecstatic to not be in pain anymore and aghast about how unsightly the whole thing looks. And, just in time for ballet classes although I’m uncertain now of how to wrap a toe in such a state as mine is in. I’m just happy to not have it make me wince in pain if the slightest gust of air were to hit my toenail.
I am going home to visit soon and am excited but also nervous because according to the scale, I’m the FATTEST IVE EVER BEEN. *sobbing softly* why does this have to happen right before I go home when I haven’t been back for almost two years?! And…I’ve been running nearly every day except the last six-eight weeks because of my toenail.
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Christmas was definitely different during COVID this year. It was a bit solemn, and we were so tired of being trapped inside, we didn’t care much about cooking MORE food and sitting around stuffing our faces, like we already had been doing all year. The only Christmas card/gift I received was a letter from my sweet 13-year-old nephew. I also unintentionally surprised myself with a sports bra I had bought a while ago (and forgot about) when it showed up unexpectedly in a package on Christmas Eve.
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The lump behind my ear seemed bigger than it actually was. I was patiently waiting for my ENT referral via mail so I could get it looked at by a specialist. I was trying not to be dramatic *good one* but I realized it could be nothing or could be anything. I started to enjoy a cup of coffee, you know, just in case I wasn’t thus far in life…which I HAVE taken it for granted. Worst-case scenario, is the worstecase scenario and there isn’t much I can do about that, can I? But so far, it was just an annoyance and a reminder I am a fallible human.
As I look out the window with my coffee, I let out a little chuckle as I watched a chain-smoking, obviously hung-over lady with a black coach purse slung across her shoulders, totter awkwardly and quickly in heels up the alley at noon. She was dressed mostly in black with volumes of hairspray and carrying a red poinsettia. I mentally decided it was the best thing I’ve seen all year. She looks like to have had an interesting Christmas Eve as well.
