652 square feet

“I did not go outside yesterday.” – Counting Crows, “Millers Angels”

652 square feet.

That’s the size of my apartment.

It’s not big. If you stand at the right place in the apartment, you can see just about every part of it.

Normally, I’m all about my small space. I don’t need a whole lot more than this (although I will freely admit to collecting too much stuff and I could do with spending some time purging some of it). It doesn’t require a ton of effort to do a good solid cleaning. It’s a perfectly fine little apartment.

And right now, it’s pretty much the world I’m stuck in.

Today, I am not doing well with what is happening in the world. Today, I’m sad. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss going to see live music.

And I feel really alone.

Logically, I know I am not. This weekend, I’ve talked to my brother, sister, and nephew, traded text messages and emails with my Dad and stepmom, texted with friends…And tomorrow, I’ll wake up and sit at my table and work, and conference call with co-workers, and give the big presentation I’m supposed to give. I will, indeed, be connected with people.

But right now, this 652 square feet of space feels incredibly small and isolated. And emotionally, I feel cut off from everything.

I’m a worrier by nature, and trust me when I tell you that I’ve worried about this mess every way possible. I worry about people I love getting sick. About how we’re all going to survive this.  I sent my brother cases of instant mac and cheese and beef jerky because I’m afraid he isn’t stocked up. I’m worried about his job, my sister’s job, my job, my friends’ jobs, my Dad and stepmom, my musician friends and how they are going to make it through this, all of the music venues I visit, my 401(k), and yes, whether or not I’m going to have enough toilet paper and toothpaste (I know, shut up, I know).

For the first time since he was born, I’m going to miss my nephew’s birthday. He’s going to be 6. That is crushing me.

Today, I read a news article about a guy who is living on an Italian island by himself. It made me incredibly sad. I think the article was meant to convey hope, but it did the opposite. I can’t imagine a life like this. I’m a mess after a week.

Being online has seemed like a necessity to connect with people, watch online music shows, and generally feel some sort of lifeline to the world…but at the same time,  the amount of doom, gloom, and scary shit is overwhelming. (This coming from the human that often watches “Friends” before going to bed so that she can end her day on a happy note.)

The thought of being stuck in my 652 square feet for 3 and 4 months terrifies me.

There has to be some hope somewhere, right?

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