Chapter 13

2020 COVID-19 – April 27 This past week of the pandemic has been exhausting. As in encompassing every aspect of absolutely everything.

Sometimes I feel tired both physically and tired from a place deep, deep inside that is almost unattainable and thick with dark clouds. Like the skin on my eyelids has become paper thin, my legs are made of anger and even my wrists are tired. I mean who has tired wrists, anyway?

I think a big component of the exhaustion for me is the lack of options, the repetition and the lack of certainty. But most notably the sudden unveiling of how completely dependent and addicted I was/am to a perceived sense of being in control. The lack of normalcy and uncertainty in a lot of this has shed light on the truth that I was addicted to planning and thinking those plans would pan out. They do not.

Thinking you have a handle on something and realizing that there was never even a handle to hold onto is tough to admit. I am repeatedly distressed by the realisation of how little was certain. I grieve the loss of perceived control and choice.

Our new house was built in 1978 and has carpet everywhere (but not the walls it’s not THAT sort of house) it was well loved and well taken care of carpet, but it’s old carpet that we would like removed at the very least from the bedrooms before we move our kids in. The bedrooms were painted an admittedly cheerful tone of lavender, but it’s not our lavender paint and more importantly something that we don’t necessarily want to move children’s beds around in the future to get rid of. So because we still have a couple more weeks until the official moving trucks roll everything out of our downtown condo and into the new house we are trying to get things updated as best we can. Pandemic styles.

A renovation is something that in the past I would have undoubtedly thrown a gaggle of professionals into to allow them to backstroke through a vat of money. (money is best kept in vats for renovations)
“Just pay someone to get it done and be over with it.”
Me, for everything difficult ever

But right now with restrictions on non essential work, extended job uncertainty, a looming recession and not wanting strangers in our home because: THE VIRUS!! we are doing as much as we can ourselves, including painting, which is the actual bane of my existence.
I hate painting more than almost anything.
I am terrible at it. I might even like war more than house painting.
Which is why when Averie and I helped with one room our work was so subpar – (4 year olds are terrible at consistent stroke and paint applications, as am I) – that Claudine all but begged us to not ‘help’ anymore.

Because timing is tight and Claudine is oddly professional at painting we let her do all the work. That’s the sort of giving person I am. Also, we need to be prepared for all the exciting surprises that sneak up when you buy an unrenovated 42 year old house. The basement is suspiciously damp and has a mouldy attitude…..just like me.

It’s been a challenge with just us and the kids in tow, but perspective is key and we are still by far more lucky than many people. We are forever entirely grateful for the help of some super star friends willing to social distance and go to the house to help us get the heavy stuff done.

The distraction of driving car loads over and spending the weekend painting and moving things in has been exhausting….but at least it feels like life progress and less like end of times.

Stay safe everyone. I’m already asleep as I type this. I love you all.