Today I woke at 4 am. Like you need to know that. Another delightful 4 hours of sleep and droning through another fucking day in the year 2020.

Today I got so angry on the way to school I wanted to rip everyone not wearing a mask a new asshole. What a bunch of domestic fucking terrorists. I even thought about posting to FB, breaking my unannounced silence calling them out.

Did you know That 2977 people died of the initial terrorist attacks of 9-11? How angry we all were after that. How distraught we were. What outrage, sadness and despair surged for long days and nights and weeks and months to follow.

Yesterday in the United States there were 2857 deaths. And that number has been climbing daily. The reported cases are still on the rise too. Which means the “curve” is not going back down for a while. Probably not at all until the savior of science rushes in to rescue us.

So for the foreseeable future it’s likely that more people will die of Covid.. EVERY DAY.. than died on 911. Where’s the unified rage? Where’s the strength of our nation? Where’s the leadership and direction.

The answer is that it doesn’t exist. Our former President and his lackey administration have completely destroyed any semblance of “we the people.” We are not longer “We.” Now it’s “Us” against “Them.”

I’m well aware that the history of our country is riddled with division. And it may be just because this is the only time I truly know and am living through, but it feels extremely damaging and unrecoverable.

I ask how many lives might have been spared with a national mask mandate? At the very least, why could we not do that? The freedom to walk about society carrying a virus capable of decimating the population is not an inalienable right.

Last time I checked the list of those rights did not include murder or suicide but that’s exactly how I interpret the message from anyone arguing against a mask mandate.

I’m so angry.

I’m so sad.

This morning taking C to school I cried. Twice. Once on the way there and once on the way home again.

This week my kids lost one of their grandparents to what my dad called last night, the Big C. He lost his wife of 30 years and I was not prepared how to help my kids sort through their feelings. Let alone my own.

As if that was not enough, my mom got news yesterday that her husband of almost 28 years tested positive for Covid, the “other C.” He was moved to a memory care facility a few months ago because his Parkinson’s had progressed to the point my mom could no longer take care of him. The facility he’s in, I’m told, now has the virus rampant among residents due to a few staff members coming down with it. Congratulations people, you probably just killed 60 people with your mask-less abandon.

It’s too early to know the outcome of course but now my kids have to suffer more weeks of worry and anxiety. Their other grandparents had it and despite being hospitalized, came out ok.

All this is too much for me. How the hell am I supposed to help my kids.

I think to myself on the way home that it’s good for us to talk and for me to not be afraid to show my emotion. It’s ok if they see me cry because then they know that it’s ok to cry, to be upset and let others see. It’s ok to talk about it and show emotion. I tell myself I’m leading by example. It’s the best I can do. We’re all human.

Well.. except for those assholes who refuse to wear a mask. Some freak amalgamation of pond scum and asphalt.

Did I mention I was angry?

And besides that, I’m fucking exhausted. I have a prescription for Trazodone but I’ve been afraid to take it. I don’t want unnatural Remedies affecting my body chemistry.

I asked my brother who I know has sleep issues if he tried it. I think I remember our mom said he had.

He said he tried it but it gave him unacceptable side effects, the biggest being heart palpitations. Now he takes Lorazepam.

When he said it I stopped myself before the words “devil’s candy” rolled out my mouth. Instead I said, “ahh, that’s a slippery slope.” Then his wife changed the subject with her loud mouth and so we didn’t get a chance to discuss.

That happened about 10 times while I was there. She’s a serious piece of work. Her signature move is to dominate the conversation and not let anyone else talk. And she’s so loud. It’s really off-putting.

The one and only time I confronted her, we got in a big fight and she stormed off slamming doors and drawers and never came back out of her room. We we’re at their apartment and left the next day. Good gravy that was a long time ago.

I’m just sad. You know?

After crying twice in the car I checked the app that tracks my monthly cycle and it tells me I have 3 days left in my “fertile window.” So it’s not PMS. I mean, of course it’s not.

2020 has been so greedy. Stupid effing year.

That is all that’s enough.
~Miss SugarCookie