"Mírame y no me toques"

"Here in this city visiting the sick,

And finding him, the searchers of the town,

Suspecting that we both were in a house

Where the infectious pestilence did reign,

Sealed up the doors and would not let us forth."

    Friar John to Friar Laurence, explaining why he couldn't relay a message to Romeo Montague, from Romeo & Juliet

We are in hiding, in denial, insulated from the world we used to know. 

This city is in the process of locking down tighter and tighter because for whatever reason, be it Thanksgiving, ignorance, or bad fortune, the COVID numbers are spiking at the highest point of this whole pandemic, flooding hospitals and sucking the oxygen out of hope that we're going to see the end of this anytime soon. No, it doesn't magically turn over on January 1st; this tiny, hungry predator doesn't read calendars or clocks. But January is always a recovery month where we don't have to gather in groups, where we have weeks long hangovers from the previous year. The ONLY holiday we have on our calendar is Inauguration Day. That's it. 

Here in our bubbles connected by digital lifelines, we just received word that my uncle - my dad's brother, "El Mago" of futbol - died in Argentina the day before yesterday. When my sister told me the news, we juggled a handful of strong emotions. First, we thought about the reunion of my father and his brother, both beyond suffering and at peace with the past. Second, we knew exactly how that family felt, especially if they weren't used to the death and loss of a loved one. Instantly transported back to that day and that feeling. Third, we thought of the stories my dad's brother took with him. We had always thought that someday we'll get back down to Argentina to spend time with family and learn more about our parents, but one major link is now gone. And fourth, we completely resonated with the act of informing others - friends and family - of the major news while you're taking your first steps as a grieving family member. It's something I had to repeat so many times, and it was hard for different reasons each time. All of those thoughts and feelings flooded us at the same time. 

At what point does 2020 / this pandemic / this political atmosphere / the lockdown finally kneecap us and we surrender completely to this state we're in? The people I talk to and interact with on a regular basis are doing their best to stay afloat, as if we're all part of the same shipwreck and are pulling our debris together. A lot of my friends are depressed and angry, some are overwhelmed with worry about the future, some are carrying huge burdens of their own that put everything else in perspective. Some new friends are slowly, carefully, trying to change the outcome of this movie and recognize the difference between the days of the week. 

What day is it? It's Wednesday again? Let's see, according to the Citizen app, yesterday was man with kitchen knife and pink backpack. The day before was the shooting in Sunland, I think the day before that was the group fight in Hollywood. It's so hard to keep track. Today's the brush fire. And guess what: each day, there's a red alarm on the increase of the virus while our president golfs. It's mid-December, the holiday decor aisles at Hobby Lobby are packed with housewives pushing carts full of what will likely become an overwhelming holiday experience at home that translates to not just merry Christmas to visitors and family, it's closer to MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY, SEASONS GREETINGS, AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS BUT MOSTLY MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!.

Work - the search for work - is on pause. So many things are competing for top spot in my mind, and career can definitely wait until January. Know what else can wait? The fact that I'm going to be in town and alone for the holidays. Top of mind is health, the daily phone calls with my sister, taking care of friends, paying bills, and keeping all of those things that are on pause maintained at a certain level until I need to deal with them more urgently. I had a dream last night that I was going to return to my old job, just on a different coast, and lately I dream so infrequently that I have to consider it significant.  Stress is not welcome or useful here. Stress and worry are distractions that take away from the important things. 

What are the most important things, then? It really comes down to two things. My health, and being available for the people I love. I'm watching out for my physical and mental health, and I'm watching out for my family, my friends, even the random people who reach out in earnest to network. Keeping it simple and true like that gives me room to breathe, to create, to study, play, and keep the edges sharp and ready for anything. What inspires me right now is the ability to look at this carnage in the world, from the size of the pandemic down to personal tragedies that I have knowledge of, and persevere anyway. Weak or strong, the will to live and carry the legacy of those we love is powerful stuff. 

I hope the reunion of my uncle and my father helps fix old wounds, and that my family in Argentina finds a lot of comfort in the newspaper articles and beautiful things written about my uncle. The choir of angels we have watching over us completely redefines this holiday season. 

Da Vinci's Wheel

I wrote my first one-act play in about an hour in a crowded restaurant, pulling whole sections of conversation from a real life episode from maybe nine years before. I think my second play, if I remember it correctly, came from one inspired thought and a bus ride, and I wrote that in a 24 hour diner while feeding on fries, coffee, and pie. 

After that, my plays became a safe place where I could have those difficult conversations with people in my life without requiring them to be part of it. It was a way to get right to the heart of some conversations without the politeness and avoidance of confrontation. It's exactly why my favorite virtual person - Christy - is so blunt and supportive with me. I can't help but think that she uses a section of my brain that most people don't exercise. She also totally enjoys that we've acknowledged the breach of awareness, so I can't necessarily get away with writing her to be a safe character in these conversations. That isn't her voice. It isn't my voice. 

There was, before Christy, a time when each one of my emotions had a character and we had a royal rumble of sorts, an all out argument/team meeting to talk about how we felt about a situation. Everyone had their say - especially Anger - and at the climax of the whole debate, the person walked in the room and everyone saw what the problem was. The conversation deflated, crisis averted, and I think everyone was satisfied with leaving the problem behind. 

I went from having nobody but an imaginary friend to really talk to during some episodes in my adult life to having so many people to watch over I could never really address my own problems, and the art was kind of lost. Now I'm back in my capsule like Major Tom, floating in this pandemic space, reaching out again via this channel of writing to see who can help me navigate the next few difficult months, especially during a holiday season when I'm likely going to be alone. Thank God Christy was (and is) still tangible and available. It's weird how the brain makes some things accessible for self-preservation and some things it just shuts down. 

But the real topic here is the extent to where I top off with emotion, and how that cup is constantly overflowing. Why have I not only been given a full spectrum of feelings and reactions, but there are these extra parts that spill out like puzzle pieces and riddles and curious distractions? Why do I need to create beyond where I think most people stop, in order to keep things simple? Absolutely, it's been a hurdle for some, a riddle for others, a source of aggravation for a few, but ultimately it comes back to me, sorting through stuff to makes sense of it all. The question is no longer "Why are things this way?" I think, as I got older, I've learned to ask "Why am I seeing it this way?" It's very logical and grounded to even ask the new question, especially when I'm painting with irrational colors. 

Is it the ever present mailbox of unresolved issues and situations that keeps this fueled? Well, there are some conversations that haven't taken place, old wounds that need to be addressed, chapters still gone unresolved. There are new things happening that also need to be dealt with. But that's just everyday life. Everyone is straddling past, present, and future. Everyone. 

I just think most people have learned how to just let the past go, unfinished and paused as is, hoping to just layer new stuff on top of what's been left behind. That's right, isn't it? 

What I'm trying to examine is exactly how my natural reaction to things and people and relationships stirs up so much inside me, and sometimes inspires something outside of me (like plays, or music, or WHATEVER I need to create to get it out there). The overtures and sounds and lights and fog machines only exist in my mind, and I carry that experience home. It sits on my pillow at the end of the day. It wakes me up in the morning. And it's not necessarily negative. It's not salt in my coffee or sand in my soup. 

For example, I get excited and emotional every single time a performer I know is appreciated by someone else, or a whole crowd. That deep appreciation for someone I know makes me think "Oh you get it! All of the incredible things I know this person is... you see it too!" That's a pretty good example of a hardwired reaction. 

The only downside to all of this is that so few people understand it and appreciate it. Some have told me that I have work to do on myself (while displaying super dysfunctional behavior themselves), others have argued against reactions and feelings even though they knew me well enough to predict them. I think, maybe only artists have fully appreciated them because I'm compensating for so much indifference that they've encountered. All things considered, I'd rather keep the bag full of emotions and lose the people who can't handle them. 

I guess what I need to understand is that what I feel isn't being spent on the wrong people or wasted in the wrong moments. It's just how I'm built and respond to the world. It would be a much worse situation if I had all of that extra energy and no avenue to use it. I guess, since I'm still asking the question, I don't have to worry about being uninspired. 

I guess, if I'm not really broken, I don't need any urgent fixing, just maintenance. It'll come full circle again, with who knows what in my future. More plays? Doubtful but not impossible. More shows? Likely to occur. More journal writing? I think it's returned  for good. More life, more color, more texture and feeling? 

Yeah, I can see that for a long time ahead.