Anti-utopia and Homeschooling

Over the last few months, I have felt like I have been walking through a dream. Not a good one. It has been one of those that might be more nightmare-ish. The ones where I find I can’t scream or move in the manner I want in order to protect or defend myself against whatever my mind unleashes when my guard has been temporary lowered. I wake up with the hope it was all something my mind has made up to mess with me, to keep me on my toes, but only to find my brain has been replaying the days events again during the night.

I find I am watching more TV than I should and am bombarded by shit I should turn off, but can’t because I guess I’m caught somewhere between no self control and boredom. I am forgetting myself and find I am focusing on things I can’t control like other people’s decisions to not to wear face masks. It seems this rationalization is now a political statement instead of being a careless and otherwise selfish act.

This never ending pandemic, my brother’s death a few weeks ago, George Floyd’s death this week and the reckless riots in the city I love…I now ruminate over the profound callousness of my fellow American citizens. I find myself not being myself and perhaps just slightly agitated, not the normal level of agitation I typically reach every morning with my caffeine consumption. This is a deeper level of unrest I haven’t felt since my hormone induced teenage years.

These are the times of “one glass of wine isn’t enough”. However, I still judge myself incredibly harshly even knowing these times are a little darker than normal. Returning to a practice of gratitude is always something I try to do in these times, especially when my humor escapes me. My bright spot is my lovely daughter and everything about her. I am so incredibly lucky that she is so amazingly independent with her school work. I do not have to take on the task of homeschooling.

I cannot image the level of strife parents are going through with potential joblessness or working from home and topped with the need to now be a teacher to your children. I might be able to muddle through most subjects, but my daughter just happens to be in compacted math. My daughter’s current knowledge of math far exceeds mine. Hats off to all those parents who are white knuckling though the next few weeks. With all that is presently wrong with the world, I have to believe that homeschooling might be a point of agitation and contributing to a whole new reason to struggle with self-esteem.

Mental health professionals have their work cut out for them and will have to do a major overhaul to those questionnaires and surveys that some take in their PCP or therapist’s offices. Two new questions I propose to assess overall mental health should be: (1) how many rolls of toilet paper do you presently have in your home and (2) are you currently homeschooling? If so, how many children? A “yes” answer to homeschooling, regardless of how many children, is a automatic prescription to a anxiety/depression medication of your choosing. If the answer to the T.P. questions is zero, then that might require a psychiatric hold.

Meals, Weed, Rap, Repeat.

I know so many of us have lost count like I have on the number of days we have been living, working and entertaining at home. I was on a Zoom happy hour and someone said it was 8 weeks. I don’t think it has been that long, but I honestly don’t know. Maybe 6 weeks? My brain has gone limp, and it no longer is able to process time the way it used to. Now, the measurements are not in days or weeks, but my time is now tracked by meals.  These days I yell to Ella from across the hallway to remind her of the awesome something or other that we made for dinner the other day, week or month. I’m also paying attention to the news threatening a meat shortage.  This is what I have turned into in just 6 or 8 weeks.

I also have renewed my addiction for weeding and rap music. It seems that one cannot exist without the other. For the past couple meal cycles, I have been tackling parts of my yard and my weed problem. I do get a bunch of gratification from ripping, tearing, pulling and digging these strong invasive nuisances from the earth. However, when you have Snoop Dogg and all of his friends on Pandora playing, it is heaven.  The weeds are no longer weeds, they become muthafu!@%ing bitches! And I realize that my love for rap makes so much sense, as I love the word play, cursing, and channeled anger.

Unfortunately, my love for rap has bled unto my daughter and I found her listening to Eminem in her room. Her only question, ” Mom, why is he so angry?” I tried to explain he was just a po white boy who had a bad mamma. I tried to expound to describe that rap is form a blues, but spoken and angry. I don’t think she understood, so I invited her to a Zoom meeting for further clarification.

I was a little concerned my daughter was listening to rap, because I do understand women are depicted often in a terrible manner.  However, I  think it is because rappers have watched one too many porn videos and it’s played out in the music to perhaps enhance masculinity. Nonetheless, I wholeheartedly believe in the average rapper’s home, the woman is calling the shots. I mean, Snoop cooks with Martha when he isn’t out being a gangsta.

My point, I have none, but I’m not certain I am documenting this time as I should. When Ella looks back on this period of time I am a little concerned. What she will remember, tell her children, and how I will be depicted? I am curious of how this will all shake out in the end. Until then, I will continue be in my yard and garden with my weed(s) and my muthaf!@%&#ing hoes.