Love Notes

Whoops. As predicted, I had a few more busy days of working hard towards a late-night deadline on Monday, May 4th. And then I just went into recovery mode for a minute or two. Early bedtimes, passive time watching different series finales on DVR. But nothing as active or mentally demanding as writing—either here, on Will4Will, or in my pen-and-paper journal.

I mean, I was still writing for work. But once I got to the end of the formal workday, I was all ready to be lazy during my evenings.

And that’s how 9 days have passed between blog-posts here.

tempus-fugit

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Because Words Matter to Me

I have struggled at times with how to refer to my status during these COVID days.

Working from home? That’s true, but it doesn’t even remotely carry the weight of all the social distancing protocols we’re trying to adhere to for safety. Homebound? That has a bit more of the “stay in the fucking house” energy that we’re living with. But it’s not a true name, since I am heading out of the house every 7-8 days or so on some quick essential errand.* Sheltering-in-place? That’s close to accurate, since Gov. Baker is certainly encouraging folks to stay home, and since my “work-at-home” status is indeed driven by the fact that our offices are closed. But there’s isn’t an actual honest-to-Gaia shelter in place order for MA, so that phrasing still isn’t entirely true.

woman isolation

For the most part, I keep coming back to the term “lockdown” as the closest useful analogue I can find to describe my and my family’s status during this particular wave of the pandemic.**

But the one thing I won’t be calling it? Quarantine.

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A Buffet for the Senses

I may have to buy a new calendar to keep track of all the cultural programming being offered in response to all the stay-at-home orders.

In all honesty, I am more likely to print out some free calendar templates for the next month or two. Any calendar I ordered would need to be shipped here over some indeterminate amount of time, and I needs to get myself sorted now.

choices

(Too many choices!)

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A Tiny Dose of Paranoia

This has been a brutal week for me and my spring allergies. BRU. TAL. The sniffles! The sneezing! The perpetually runny nose! Those uncomfortable bits of dry skin that build up where one’s nostrils meet the upper lip, on account of all the nose-blowing caused by the sniffles and congestion….

Oh, was that a bit TMI? #SorryNotSorry

Of course, during these surreal COVID times, there’s also all the symptomatic second guessing.

woman mask

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The COVID Diaries

Yeah, about 10 days ago, I said I was gonna have a lot to say about COVID-19 and then I got quiet instead.

Part of that was my general sense of it being fruitless to post. You see, two Fridays ago, I was feeling super-frustrated. I don’t pretend to be a huge expert or anything, but I know enough about epidemiology that I was already clocked in (right around the start of March) to understand how serious this all was.

But I wasn’t seeing a similar awareness in my surroundings—not at the local, regional, or national level.

So I was feeling increasingly tense and stressed and frustrated at my Cassandra-like status and I was in the mood for a big ol’ superiority rant. I was probably gonna link to  every data scientist’s analysis I’d been reading* and yell and scream to the effect of:

Don’t you people get it!?!? This shit is REAL!

But right after my last post is when things began to sink in: locally, regionally, and federally.** And now here we are.

coronavirus-4937221_960_720

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Interoffice Mail

Mid-day today, I got a group Facebook message from a friend of mine, C:

Hey! If you are getting this message it’s because either you have posted about Warren or I think you might like/support her.

On my way to work today, I realized that I drive by her house every day. People are leaving notes and flowers on her porch. 

Cambridge loves you

With this realization, C had had a flash of inspiration. Her plan was simple: she was offering to deliver any messages any of us wanted to send to Elizabeth Warren. If we could email our message to C by 5, she’d print them all out and then drop them on Warren’s porch as C made her way home from work.

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Taking Flight into the 20s

So Sherri, how did that 2019 blogging experiment of yours end up?

I daresay the fact that my last post was almost-literally six months ago answers that question.

Its not that surprising. Shortly after that last post went up, I joined the RED Sisterhood team, helping support my wonderful teacher and mentor, Kristin Sweeting Morelli, in sharing her genius for women’s empowerment and women stepping into their feminine power.

Since I’m an integrous person and my primary professional responsibility is to my “9-to-5” job, I’ve only been helping Kristin out on evenings and weekends. But, when you add those evening and weekend hours on top of my 9-to-5 schedule and on top of the evening and weekend hours I sometimes(1) have to give to my non-profit job — well, it’s unsurprising I haven’t had a lot of recreational writing time.

So why am I back here?

Call it a New Year’s thing.

2019 departures

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Unapologetically Real

So, Sherri, how’s that RUHCUS thing going, four days in?

Well, Dear Reader, I am experiencing some of the bumpiness that occurs when the best of intentions collide with the realness of life.

I don’t think I’m alone if having that kind of work-based karmic payback that emerges after a 3-day weekend, when you realize that however much you enjoyed that extra day off, you’re now trying to do 5 full days of work in 4.(1) So between the office re-entry and the side gig(2), my Tuesday and Wednesday have not exactly been flush with time for self-pampering.

So I’ve had some real-world, real-time opportunities to practice living in my skin, and to find moments of sensory enjoyment even on the tilty-est of full-tilt days.

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