The Stone Shelter

(Originally posted on another website in answer to the title question.)

To a certain extent, you get used to it. But, only to a certain extent.

Back a decade ago, I was... Well, I suppose it's not bragging to say that I was pretty well regarded in my chosen field(s). First as a detention officer and then as a Professor, I would be called on to not only handle more at the facilities where I worked than any other two, but would often be called upon to travel to other areas for days and even weeks. On top of that, I led a pretty active lifestyle with friends, family, and hobbies that included what some people refer to as "eXtreme."

A lifetime of abusing my body and pushing through injury, illness, and pain caught up with me as it has a tendency to eventually do when you don't expect to live to be old, don't really have any desire to, and don't make plans for it. I was doing a hundred and twenty down life's highway and some joker threw on the emergency brake.

I watched as first my employers found other people to take up the slack. Hiring two and three people to do what I'd done. But, any small sense of accomplishment that it had taken so many to replace me was short-lived, as however many it took, I was still replaceable. And very soon the calls and visits looking for my input stopped as the people replacing me grew into the roles they had assumed and made it their own and I became obsolete and irrelevant.

Friends drifted away in droves as I became increasingly unable to keep up with the decidedly non-sedentary interests we had once shared. Perhaps the first tournament and trophy or two that would have been mine, I had some mention. But, again, it wasn't long before I was replaced and forgotten to the annals of time.

Family was too busy seeing to their own demands and interests and weekly calls or visits became bi-weekly and then monthly, and then only on special occasions.

But, that was alright. It really was. Because I still had the woman I had thought enough of to marry who had also thought enough of to marry me right by my side. Ironically also trapped in the four walls with me as her own health spiraled out of control just six months after mine and she became not only housebound but virtually bedridden. But, we had each other. We had love. We had common shared interests that we could still manage with her in bed with a hospital-style bed table.

Until one day, I woke up to find I didn't. That she had left, not only me but this plane of existence. Leaving me with a dog that I take full responsibility for and three cats that were so not my fault. Or my choice beyond that I married the stereotype of the Crazy Cat Lady.

Someone shared a joke with me lately that I can't quite remember how it goes. But, the gist of it is that God asked a German Shephard what he thought was most important and allowed the dog to take a seat on his right due to his answer. He then went on to ask a Doberman what he thought was most important and allowed the dog to take a seat on his left due to the answer. He then asked the cat, and the cat said, "I believe you need to get your fat ass out of my chair." Or something like that.

And, boy, is that fucking apt for the assholes my wife left me with.

But, I probably needed it as they ganged up on me and bullied me to not only turn my face back from the wall but actually get my ass up out of the bed and see to their needs.

Talking with my Dad (who lost his wife twenty-two days after mine) every day for an hour helped some until he died on the following father's day. But, it was hilarious since he would complain about how no one cared and yet every single phone call would be interrupted several times by other people calling him or coming by to visit him while he (over the telephone) and one other person on the entire world that I communicated with via email would be the only people I spoke to at all for days and even weeks at a time until I could manage to get my ass out to go to the store. (Typically for pet food.)

All of this went on years before we even heard of COVID, mind you. And I would say something about it here or elsewhere. And people would comment that I should get out and do things, not understanding. And as such is probably largely irrelevant beyond the fact that I've had a bit longer than most to think about how to deal with being alone and trapped.

And I understand that these days are a little different. That now the rest of the world is trying to learn the lessons I had to pick up over the last decade. How to fill the idle hours, trapped and alone.

I can remember a friend of my father's, callously (or so it felt at the time), telling me "now you have the freedom to do whatever you have always wanted to do, but didn't have the time."

***shrug***

She pissed me the fuck off with her inept delivery during my time of pain. But, I am forced to concede that she may have had some small point in her cavalier way.

Talking with people was a good start for me. Or rather listening to people talk about what they were interested in. It didn't matter so much if I wasn't really interested in it. And, more than a few times, because I was interested in the person, I became interested in something new that I hadn't thought I would be because I'd never taken the time to pay attention to it before.

Pets are, yes, wonderful. Or can be. They listen great but don't communicate beyond basic needs very much. (Not much different from many on Lit, now I think about it.) However, it is my opinion (for however little it may be worth), that if you take on a pet, you are making a covenant with not only the pet, but with God (or whatever name you choose to attribute to the greater power) that you will continue to care for them and see to their needs even when it is no longer convenient to do so. Even when the discomfort surpasses the pleasure, their needs surpass your ease.

My books have been a comfort to me, even as my mind and focus have deteriorated and I often have to flip back because I look up and can't recall what I read the page before when I once devoured War and Peace in sixteen hours on a "lockdown" shift.

I can't rely on internet, telephone, or even television, I have found, as my provider (that I was unwise enough to bundle it all through) has been intermittent at best (now that they finally "fixed" what they fucked up a month ago) and I can't even watch an episode of a show on-line without so many pauses that it takes four hours to get through a thirty-minute episode. (And I've had to learn to type up any responses in Lit in notepad and paste them in when it comes back in a half-hour or more... if I still think it's relevant to the conversation that has most likely moved on in my absence. Even phone calls typically consist of ninety percent static and me yelling "What? If you said something, I didn't catch it!")

***shrug***

At the end of the day, you are you. You do have interests. You do have skills. You have what you CAN do. And, judging by my own history, there just isn't a whole lot of sense in making yourself more miserable by dwelling on what you once could without a second thought.

Take down that box of jumbled pictures from the top of the closet and put them in some semblance of order if not actually in photo albums.

Do you like to draw? Draw something. It doesn't really matter if you are no Rembrandt, Van Gogh, or DaVinci. Or even Georgia O'Keefe. It doesn't matter if you will eventually share it with us, or only with him, or keep it for yourself. The important part is that you do what you feel, what you love.

Do you like to write? Write something. It doesn't really matter if you are no Shakespeare or Chaucer. Or even David Eddings. It doesn't matter if you will eventually share it with us, or only with him, or keep it for yourself. The important part is that you do what you feel, what you love.

Do you like to take pictures? Take pictures of something. It doesn't really matter if you are no Jimmy Nelson or Mario Testino. It doesn't matter if you will eventually share it with us, or only with him, or keep it for yourself. The important part is that you do what you feel, what you love.

Creation takes more time, thought, and consideration than destruction any day of the week. Find that kernal of creation in you and nurture it. And, as I have said, the important part is that you do what you feel, what you love.

Learn something new. I really don't care if you are in the top 98 percentile of the world. So was I once. And you don't know everything about everything. Or even everything about any one thing. Pick up a new book. It doesn't matter if you always wanted to read it or never even noticed it before. It doesn't matter if you can devour it in a matter of hours as I once could or it takes you weeks as it does me now. The whole point is that you are just sitting there like a lump anyway.

Watch a new show or new movie (if you can get the damn television and internet to cooperate). Sure, it may suck stale pond water. But, you don't know that until and unless you check it out. And it just may be that no matter what other people are saying about it that it will tickle your fancy in some way.

Exercise. You know what? I really don't give a flying fuck if all the public gyms are now zombie-pocalypse zones and even going outside when other people are outside is to step outside of your safety and comfort zone. There are things you can do in the space between your bed and the wall beside it. Don't know what? Well, LOOK! Or, better yet, create your own! What CAN you do that will engage your muscles and tire you the fuck out physically, and make you stronger and feel better in the long run? I may not be Jack Lalane. And I may not even have as much on the ball as you anymore, but even I was able to think of stretches and calisthenic exercises I could still manage. And, you are (demonstrably!) brighter and more resourceful than someone whose brain has been slowly turning to tapioca in their skull for a decade now.

When you can safely get outside, do so. Even a quasi-vampire like me can have some seratonal and melatonal benefits from letting my skin absorb some vitamin D occasionally despite the migraines. The safety of your backyard if you have one. Your balcony if you don't. Just open the windows if nothing else.

Not to belittle Covid or Corona or whatever we are calling it since I am only gradually coming out of an informational vacuum during intermittent connectivity, but stress has always been a bigger killer. And the stress of loneliness is a silent assassin slipping up to your bedside as you sleep.

However, in my experiences (and only in my experiences), you don't have to be lonely, if you can make yourself into the company you want to keep. And share your interests with others who also have the same interests (when the fucking phone and internet work!) to make friends (and enemies) with people who share that common interest, but don't rely on them to be there when their own interests carry them away.

Because at the end of the day the portal at the beginning and end of this dream we call life is only one soul wide. The only difference is what or who we take time or make time for in the inbetween. And since they have their own lives, responsibilities, and interests drawing them away from time to time, the only person that you can count on to be with you twenty-four and seven from beginning to end is yourself.

And when the person that you love, that you are fortunate enough to have some of, comes back to you, it will make them happier. Happier to have you. Happier to come back to you. Because you will be happier.

Any road, I don't know that I actually contributed a damn thing. Or if I just spent hours thinking about and typing about something that someone else will think is a bunch of bullshit. But, you know what? It doesn't really matter. Because it made me happy, occupied my time, and kept me from feeling the stress of loneliness and boredom for the time I was piddling with it. And everyone else is perfectly within their rights to argue with me, ignore me, or agree with me as they feel.