I'm Just a Victim of Changing Planets

I handled the isolation of the pandemic lockdowns and distancing provisions in a very normal way, I think; in a way that a regular person would look at it and say "huh, that reminds me of me and my reactions to the same set of circumstances, all well within obvious and objective societal norms." You know, the way normals talk.

Long stretches of being alone has historically, for me, been a good time. This would normally be a point to insert a predictable, purely reflexive reference to masturbation, but I can do that later when you're not around.

There are a couple of ways my anxiety specifically works: all change is inherently threatening. Also the antidote for all threats is isolation, to a degree proportional to the threat. Time to put new registration stickers on the car license plate for the year? Maybe just stay in the car for an extra song off the radio-phone here or there after I park it anywhere for the next week. Winter giving way to spring? Spend a full afternoon binge-catching-up on something you heard was good that might also scratch a FOMO itch. Get offered a new job after 17 years (essentially your entire adult professional life after a late start due to child-rearing)? Bury yourself under 80 feet of earth and consider never coming out again.

Unfortunately I do not have 80 feet of earth handy, so unless some of the weird random pop-up-event thunderstorms we've gotten in the past few weeks result in a fortuitous landslide along the hills my house is positioned on, I'm stuck trying to reckon with looming actual, measurable alteration in my schedule, the people I have to see, my finances... I'm practically dog-panting just typing it out. That also might be the result of my second large cold brew of the day, bookending a few strategically interspersed Coke Zeroes, but I don't drink, so I'm stuck with this kind of over-the-counter decidedly-non-barbituate form of self-medication. I'd like to say I was actively hoping that mainlining stimulants was an active plan to cultivate an inversely calming Ritalin effect, but it's just that I'm too lazy, scared or cheap to try anything I'd have to work to procure. It's this or pure sugar. Except now that I think about it, that's an incorrect use of the word "or." The day is young.

I did say "anxiety" before so it may not surprise you to learn: it's possible I"m being slightly dramatic. I'm literally about to move exactly one (1) cubicle to the north of where I currently sit, for the same agency doing largely the same thing, but for a different proprietor. The people with whom I work will be the same people, I'll just be part of the Other Half, interacting with the group I soon-to-be-formerly led in an entirely different context. But in the same building, with the same commute, the same security and IT departments... I'll still know where the good bathrooms are and which fundraiser lunch events are good and which are an attempt to poison the entire building. You learn fast not to trust the people in charge of the summer outdoor sushi buffet.

It'll be manageable, but I'll still squirm through it. I begrudgingly admit I probably won't actually die. I'll just have to make an effort to be philosophical about it between the eruptions of panic that push to me to a point of such self-consciousness, I temporarily forget how to operate my own lungs. But as usual, all my autonomic systems will kick back in once I black out and maybe, as I'm laying there, staring up at the sky from the Circle K parking lot, I'll remember what I heard some French person say once: ploo sasshonj, ploo saylaam emshoze. It sounded something like that, anyway. Such wisdom. And in such a beautiful language.