By Anonymous
I am smiling, soothing, making to do lists. I am taking care of my son. Taking care of my partner, who is taking care of our son. I am taking inventory. I feel that am accomplishing so much, with so little time.
Our daily schedule includes:
- Shower
- Clothes
- Food
- Work
- Go outside
- Teaching a young child (though it is, of course, the other way around)
- Craft or activity
- Above all, do not panic
But as the dust settles even a little bit, I am panting, my hands and nose are numb. My partner reminds me to breathe, look at his mouth, follow his breath. I hold his hands. He is taking care of me. He holds me to sleep. Hours later, our beautiful son will snuggle into bed. The cats come in and we will fold around them too. We are matryoshka dolls, nestled versions of ourselves beside each other.
I will finish re-reading “A Map to the Door of No Return”, I will peer through “Carnal Appetites: FoodSexIdentities” and wish toilet paper into the text. I will download “The Conquest of Bread” and perhaps re-orient myself. I might do none of these things at all. I will think of Foucault (biopolitics) and wonder at the web of power that has always been, but is ever changing. We will read about China, Italy, Iran, capitalism, crooks, data, math, symptoms, the asymptomatic, the body as contagion, death, and a hundred other ideas that spin in my head. I will wake up and do it all again tomorrow.