The Fifth Saturday

It has to be said: of the five Saturdays we have missed Market, only one was a nice day. Not that rain would have stopped me from going, but I have been happy enough to have stayed home, in that small sense. I misplaced my alarm clock awhile back and slept until 8:30, which is kind of late for me but becoming more regular. And now it is about the time I would be heading over to the food court to get a second cup of coffee which I only did on Market days to get me through to finishing (at like 7:30 pm) so I'm making one now. I wonder how many booths would have flipped in those gusty winds from the northwest we had as the front rolled in. We could have trauma-bonded one more time. I have been through so many weather events in the Park Blocks. The day in the 70s when it rained like 5 inches. Or maybe it was just one inch, but it poured copiously and constantly on the nine of us who were trying to figure out how to pack up without getting completely drenched. I made paper things at the time, in a flimsy little booth carried on a bike cart.The day it snowed on April 21st, just a few years ago. The day an earthquake happened and I missed it...if only I had looked at the fountain, right next to me, I'd have seen something new.

I think that was my 1977 calendar, with stenciled cards.

As with all decisions these days, I carefully consider it: should I use an extra filter and coffee, or will that cause me to run out? I have plenty of most things but I'm craving the things I don't have. Things it's embarrassing to ask someone to get for me, and things that aren't really motivating enough to order for delivery or suit up and go out for. My upcoming birthday is putting pressure on my normal deprivation issues. Will I have enough? Psychologically this of course translates to will I be enough? Will it matter to anyone to mark my special day? Is it really that special? Do I really need a fresh pineapple and a mango? I am considering buying myself a Sweet Life tiramisu. The whole thing. I found some Lactaid in my cupboard so I wouldn't get that sick. I got my stimulus check so I can order anything I want. I'm talking myself out of it though.

I hardly extend myself for most other people's birthdays. Sometimes I try harder than others. I know how it feels to have one and to be remembered, but I have to be forgiving and also not attached. Mom remembered, bless her heart, and of course she has never missed one. She was five days early, on about the day she would have made me a card or in the deep past, sent a present or a check. I feel very lucky she remembered the month. Starting to really see the memory decline in personal ways, hard. I know how lucky I am to have had her so intact for 70 birthdays. I never take it for granted that she will be here for the next. I don't even take it for granted that I will be, really.

With braces, right before Fibergraphics happened in 1984, or a year or two later.

I've descended into a comfortable but warped place, where I'm strangely glad when the safe time is extended, when the virus spreads, since that makes this seem worthwhile. Of course I don't want anyone to get it or to die. I don't feel like I've really sacrificed, just haven't made a lot of money I would have made, but I also didn't have to do all that work I would have done. My reading pile is diminishing nicely. My list of excuses for not being productive has gotten much longer: I'm grieving, I'm "working" on "other things" and I have to make food and do the dishes. Comfort food.

I checked on my stores, only six jars of tomatoes left, but a couple dozen applesauce and pears. I can make applesauce cake and probably will. I had a box of vegan white cheddar macaroni that I made last night...it was like box food but nice and smooth and filling, and had that unknown satisfaction factor that I needed.

Could be 1983, with Maude and Celeste. The zebra print was one of my first shirts.

I should have been writing hard trying to make the most of the Saturday Market birthday energy but just couldn't manage anything more than one article that I doubt will be printed. I got it down from 2000 words to 900 and it was tight and not a bad sentiment, but the whole premise feels weak to me now. Like my birthday, will people really care about it? And then when it is over, won't it just be over? I get cynical about the strength of my life in the Market...sure I have done it more than just about anything else in my life, but wasn't that just part habit and part self-serving labor and gratification? Do I really love it all that much?

I know I do, or I wouldn't be distancing so hard from it this week. That's what I do when the caring becomes overwhelming. I try to escape, try not to be responsible, try to pretend it doesn't matter. I've avoided countless funerals by telling myself I wasn't that close to the person and they won't care now anyway. Not that I'm thinking about death all the time, but I am. Waiting for that pendulum to swing, that scythe to fall. I have pressure in my chest. It's the only symptom, and it isn't more than anxiety, I don't think. I haven't been outside of my yard more than to the corner in many weeks. I doubt anyone dropped off the virus on my porch...though they could have.

My neighbors finally got busted for whatever they were dealing...it wasn't too serious, no one dragged off that I could see, and no guns were drawn. I watched from my window, so couldn't tell much. Things were quiet around there but I doubt things will change a lot. Their garbage is still uncollected and their lawn is unmown. The part we share is full of weeds but I don't like being in it since they are not socially distancing. I wear a mask, but it still feels creepy.

Have the family zoom to push me out of my cave a little today. Call with Mom tomorrow, another zoom on Monday, one on Tuesday, one on Wednesday, then one on Friday. More than I want, for sure, way more. I'm skipping Tuesday Market, though it starts on Tuesday. I am allowed to sell, but wasn't wanting to work on my birthday, of course, and I thought about how it might be to sell there.

I could probably arrange some of my bags and hats so that people could take them from the racks without my help, hand me a credit card, and stay a few feet away kind of. While my bags aren't strictly essential, most stores still allow them and people might want gifts...or to support me perhaps. But I won't get my prime spot, most likely, since all the booths have to be more widely spaced, so I'd probably be facing Oak Street, watching cars drive by. I could buy things...if people will take cash. My bank accounts are thin but I still have cash. No unemployment has come through...and if I start selling again, will I get kicked off unemployment before I even get any? I guess not, but no one knows how that will work.

I also don't feel safe standing outside in the public space all day. I don't feel safe traveling through it even. None of my neighbors, or anyone walking by, is wearing a mask anymore. The campaign to "open the economy" is working...people are giving in to feeling tired of being sensible and caring for others. They want their cake. I want cake, but I am still scared. I just want to stay home still.

Arguably, I need to get out...it would be good for me. I am in a little too deep with all this time to myself. It's thre natural contraction of my social life that was already happening, but times ten. Or a hundred. There are so many things I don't want to resume. I think about retirement...how that works for people. I wish I could manage it. Perhaps I will see how little I can live on in the coming months. I know I can be a meager consumer and I can talk myself out of so many things. Some might be harder than others.

That's it, nothing much to say. All of the zooms are like that too. Today I think I might ride my stationary bike while we meet since I have so little to say. I could mute myself and just watch the others. Last week we got to watch my brother's new wallpaper going up and I learned a few tricks on how to do that well. Not going to wallpaper, but I like to know how.

Every single day I say to myself that I'll work on those archives today. Maybe this will be the day.