Seeking purpose, joy in troubling times
My Little Dog Lily and I are on the sofa, she stretching to her full length, which is roughly from my rump to just short of my knee. She is that small, her most distinguished feature, which is why she is called “My Little Dog,” as if it is part of her name.
It is comfortable and comforting for each of us, here in the air conditioned room, and it works especially on writing day because there is still room for my lap top. Her other favorite position is on my chest, with makes typing tough.
Janet asked what I was doing and I was irritated because i never know how to answer when I am between tasks. I had just finished looking for underwear online, having quit because I was unable to find the style I want and now I have to wait until the quarantine is over, which threatens to be months because this plague, knowing we have no leadership, is running amok.
I snapped, “Why do I always have to be doing something?” No a good way to start the day. I apologized, but I will feel guilty for hours.
Such unpleasant feelings are a lousy way to spend time in isolation when one is given no stimuli to feel good or fulfilled or satisfied in some way.
This is one of the side effects of the ills that are piling up on my fellow Americans and myself. We tend to be in a perpetual bad mood, which eats away at one’s soul. Janet said she can tell from my writing that I am in a foul humor too much.
”You have no joy in what you write,” she said. She is correct and I apologize.
I’ll find some joy before I finish this piece, but first I need to note another unintended side effect of our multiple troubles, you know, sickness, racism, riots for police reform, a president too stupid to respect.
It is that people are searching the social media to get the goods on their enemies and turning them in. They are especially looking for racist comments. I know one college official who has had to deny admission to otherwise qualified applicants because of some racist comment they made online. The comments are sent to the college, anonymously, or not.
And small children and small dogs are as restless as small children and puppies can be, driving themselves and their parents nuts. I have yet to see any good publication by psychiatrists over how to survive these months of being alone and bored.
Somebody best get to it or we are going to have a seriously psychologically damaged population. And for the promised joy?
It is My Little Dog Lily, who will awaken soon and begin a noisy, seemingly endless game of chase the ball, chase the ball.
What can be more joyful than playing with a pup?