What am I doing?

Researching, learning, drawing, typing, posting. Too much, all the time. It’s hard for me to find my off switch. I always feel like I need to be on, doing something. Always running around like a chicken with my head trying to keep up. Maybe it’s the other way around. My head is moving so fast that the rest of me is like a blurred shadow. I’m bouncing from one idea to the next, never pinning the last one down.

This pandemic lockdown is defining all odds. I was the queen of a zero social circle. I had mastered being alone. I never went anywhere. I never had anyone to talk to. Just me and myself, every day. My phone never beeps or rings. I was never expected to be anywhere. I am so allergic to everything I touch and smell and eat, so avoiding restaurants and human contact was completely normal. It was my regular. I called it ‘Ali’s World.’

I was never bored, always creating and thinking of something new. I was never sad or lonely because I had to live this way. In my own little world. Then I got up to face each challenge head on. The worst was my fight with anxiety. Going to the store alone, getting out the front door, hopping out of my car. It was a huge battle. I would sit and panic about the whole idea of it. I would just say no about doing anything because I knew the fear of it all makes me sick.

But by the end of February this year, I was braving the grocery store and CVS. I was pumping my own gas into my car. I was forced into a new me because I told myself I wanted more out of life. As soon as it became a normal, weekly routine of each panic attack, I was doing it anyway. Then I was told to stay home, stay away. Don’t eat that, don’t touch that. Great. Right back where I started. My internal self destruction became the law. And now everyone else has to go through it too.

At first I was a little happy on the inside. Watching others panic, over everything. Afraid of each other, afraid of touching and eating. Welcome to my mind. Enjoy the lack of freedom. I wasn’t alone anymore. We were all alone together. Now I hate this feeling. I hate it for all of us. I wish there was good advice, a better plan. I wish it was at least okay for everyone else. I never saw the pleasure in my lifestyle, I know exactly how miserable this is in the long haul.

The power of our mind, our individual self control is being tested. It’s the big game of life, with a whole new game board. It’s called “Bored-Um.” And because of it, playing this new way of the world, I have pinned down my main struggle. It’s food, my main trigger is food. It’s not all the other things, because food is the starting square. We need to eat to live. And everything involves another meal. Another pack of nourishment.

There are food ads everywhere, and not one of them is advertising an eating option for me. They are billboards and fast-food restaurants on the side of the road. There are coupons in the mail and on the internet. The grocery store is selling seafood and peanut butter and fried chicken and pasta sauce. My family is cooking new recipes and I can’t ever just stop by for dinner. No take-out or front door delivery. No popcorn and candy at a movie theatre. No snacking at the state fair, no holiday parties, no birthday cake, no going out for an ice cream cone.

I cook. Every meal, every snack. Every time I eat, every time I’m hungry. I have no other option then to grab a pan, the same few ingredients, and then eat, then clean. Like a robot. There is no variety. There is no company. There is no easy way. I was under the impression it wouldn’t be this bad. I thought it was just part of my life. But it is my life. I cook, eat clean. And get creative, like race the clock when I scrub the pan. I use a different spoon. I cut in cubes instead of slicing. I use the oven instead of making stone soup.

The kicker, really, was the ad I was unable to escape this week. On the fourth floor in my apartment complex, during this weird time of keeping our hands to ourselves, I came up the stairs from a dog walk, and found a Chinese food delivery menu jammed in my door frame. Nice, just what I want. Just what I needed, before my endless cycle of steamed broccoli. Forget self control and boiling blood, that menu was crumpled up and thrown across the room in pure rage. Stupid food. What am I doing? I’m stuck at home. I’m cooking, DUH.