Weird. Tired. 2021.

Everything and nothing

Image by the author via Canva.

This year, our plum tree hardly bloomed. Each year signals the change of seasons — a sweet, pink herald. But this year it budded, the first blooms unfurled, and then it was over in a haze of fresh scarlet leaves.

October, normally a fun flurry of photoshoots to celebrate the spooky season, was full of confusion as my state exited complete lockdown. We had one photoshoot. It was fabulous, but that’s not the point.

The point is that this year has, again, been weird. I feel weird, and I know I’m not alone in that.

I’ve been posting our steampunk web serial here on Medium (and please, if you haven't checked it out, give it a try!) so I haven’t been absent in reality, but I certainly haven’t been here like I’d hoped I would be this year. My May experiment proved to me that I can build momentum and improve my writing if I dedicate myself to it. That’s what I wanted to achieve this year.

But I haven’t and, quite honestly, I can’t.

Pandemic fatigue is a thing. We’re all aware of that. But I hate it and I feel pathetic that it’s affecting me. I’m tried of being tired. I feel weak because I am exhausted. I’m ready for this year to be over, but I’m scared next year will be more of the same. I want things to return to normal, but what even is normal?

Normal is continuing to put one foot in from the other other. Even if the steps are tiny, and wobbly, and you’d really rather stay in bed. Take a step, then sit down for a bit and be proud.

This was my step. I’ll take another soon.