Why 2020 Needs a Timeout!

 2020 is the year of the insane.

It is like the toddler that's running amock on a sugar high, refusing to wear anything but underwear and just when you think it's something you might want to record for cuteness sake, it squats down in a right tantrum. Refusing to budge or cooperate. You do your best to cajole. But the monster just won't pipe down. That's 2020, described at its tolerable best. 

It's been such a cocktail of a year. On the one hand, it has brought together families like never before. I mean literally like never before because I can't think of a time before this when every member was forced to share the same space for such a long period of time. I mean, sure the proximity does create its fun, magical moments. But when the predator outside is an enemy of the respiratory system, where the heck do you go for a little breathing space?

The bedroom is an office. The living room is a multi-purpose space. The kitchen is a washing station. The balconies are converted laundromats. And the toy room is a landmine waiting to go off. Seriously lego, accessories and sharpened colour pencils EVERYWHERE. 

Now, I've had enough number of people tell me not to bother because after all, who's going to visit? But if you're going to spend 24 X 6months indoors, the indoors better be a haven! 

And so the lockdown period started with me on a mission- I was going to keep it clean, organised and pretty. I was going to use my superhuman x-ray vision to fight the virus from every surface with my trusty sidekick, Lizol. Well, at least that was stage 1. Stage 2- As long as I find clean clothes and everyone is getting fed, it's a successful day. Stage 3- everything goes. Lizol is still my partner in crime, of course. I think we'll be together for many more months to come.  

I've myself gone from motivated, to exhausted, to crabby, to bored, to 'whatever'. And it still feels like just the beginning. Of course, the spouse might say it's varying degrees of anger, aggression and anxiety. I, of course, composedly demur. 

It isn't anxiety, it's concern. It isn't aggression, it's healthy guidance. And it isn't anger, it's setting high standards of perfection. 

(I can feel the eyes being rolled at me) But hey, that's what it's like to be a boho mom feeling like she needs to be the tiger. The spouse ends up bearing the brunt. 

On the upside, I did reconnect with myself in ways I hadn't the past many years. I've been painting, writing stories and poems. My reading, though, has slumped to an all-time low. But hey, you can't have it all. Not with a four-year-old who doesn't believe in nap time and a thirty-seven-year-old who sometimes forgets the value of a clock. 

I wonder if I can take six more months of this. 2020 needs a bloody timeout.