How’s everybody holding up?
It’s been a week since I left the apartment for any reason other than a grocery run. OK, maybe I also hit up the liquor store a few times. For the first time in many years I have been experiencing actual cigarette cravings (I quit seven years ago), but I have not yet caved!
This week’s entry will be brief. I’ve been struggling off and on with the impetus to write. It comes and goes, and right now I’m forcing myself to do it. I find it darkly funny that the year I finally decide to start a proper music blog is the year career concert-goers such as myself get the rug ripped out from under us. It’s a dark cloud over my mood that’s tough to shake, and when I’m not working remote, the nesting urge takes over: I am compelled to cook, clean, and sleep. Ernie is like a pig in shit: his two favorite people are around constantly to shower him with affection and snacks. Emphasis on the snacks.
Oh, to be a peacefully napping cat in the midst of chaos.
There has been a smattering of joy and laughter and genuinely inspiring camaraderie despite the doldrums. Ironically, I feel more actively engaged and connected with my friends and loved ones than I have in a long time. There are constant phone calls, Discord chats, and spontaneous, drunken Google hangouts. The global scale of the crisis has thrust us all in the same boat: Alone, Together.
I have been having the same conversation with almost everyone. This was supposed to be our year. Every band we ever loved seemed to be putting a tour together. The high of the anticipation makes the loss all the more brutal, and I’m not optimistic. Barring a miracle, live music isn’t returning to (an adjusted) normal until a vaccine is in circulation; prolonged suppression measures will be necessary to keep our communities safe and our healthcare system from being catastrophically overwhelmed.
Frankly, it’s the easiest decision in the world. Sacrifice all semblance of normalcy and public life to make sure people like my parents have access to care, god forbid they fall ill? It’s a no-brainer. Worrying about my relatives who are older and sicker than I am keeps me up at night. I’d be lying to you if I told you I haven’t been fielding semi-regular panic attacks. There’s nothing I want more right now than be able to drive up to Connecticut and throw my arms around my mom and dad; words cannot even begin to express the scope of that desire. I have a deepened appreciation for the preciousness of the little things, now that they’re on indefinite hold. But if staying put in my apartment for up to a year and a half is the price I have to pay, so be it.
The light at the end of the tunnel? Man, just imagine the party when it’s all over. Unfathomable. A dream come true. And that day will come, sooner or later. I was DMing a mutual on Instagram earlier this week: no one will ever stand around at a gig with their arms crossed ever again. It will be heaven on earth.
…EVERYBODY SHORT OF THE SHOEGAZERS.
(Cheers, @hotcoffeelawsuit.)
See you in yet another quarantined week,
-Bux