From Neighbors to Barn Cats

            I’ve been cooped up in my little railway-style apartment for 3.5 months now, biding away the time with various semi-productive endeavors like learning how to use Ableton, fantasizing about my next career as a nomadic chef/witch and finishing off family sized bags of kettle chips. While my insufferable millennial neighbors act like Covid-19 is just a non-stop party where the government pays for the beer, piling up in parks and walking around crowded grocery stores mask-free like they’ve never read a single article on the internet; I’m being an actual good human and trying not to kill people. I mean, not physically. In my mind, I’m committing mass murder.

            My still miraculously-in-love-constantly-laughing-next-door-neighbors might as well be letting children starve to death, I eye them with such hostility. Families biking merrily by my apartment, yelling and singing at the top of their lungs as I sit on my front balcony trying to write, get hit by invisible firetrucks. My lower neighbors, who have stopped having daily bed-breaking sex that could double as the most obnoxious opera singer’s vocal warm-up, are now drilling holes into my eardrums with the sound of their… footsteps. After sending a mind tornado through only their front and back windows, I initiate full-on warfare. I write them a letter and leave it in their mailbox. The suspiciously sweet but clearly aggressive jist is “Hey there neighbors! You’re great, I’m great, everything is great but COULD YOU PLEASE WALK AROUND QUIETER YOU DUMB FUCKING COWS.” To be fair, I specified “after 10pm,” and honestly it sounds like an 800lb man is training at all hours for a marathon down there. After no noticeable change I put my big girl pants on and repeat the message in person, where they look at me like I’m crazy before shutting the door and turning back into ogres. At 3am one night as they are stomping around with 15 of their best friends inside, read: illegally… I seize the opportunity and giddily call the cops. Yeah, I’m that person now. But I mean, cops aren’t exactly the most beloved of folks right now, and I figured I was doing a great service to humanity by inconveniencing two groups of dickheads. Fuck them ALL.

            Sooo it’s possible I might not be my best self right now. I decide the solution for social isolation bitterness is… more isolation. I just need to get out of the city! I fire off a wish to the Facebook Fairy asking for a house swap situation to get my bitter ass into nature, and within days, a colleague asks if I might want to look after his farm home for a month while he visits family. FUCK. YES. I only need to know two things: “How do I get there,” and “Can I bring my cat;” since we are now married. 

            One week later and a car packed embarrassingly full of all my “necessities:” just about 17 writing notebooks, my violin, amp, special effects pedals and every cable I own regardless of whether it even powers something I’ve brought (I don’t know what half my shit does still, I just put the thing in the hole that looks like the right shape), two camping tents (long story) and (oh fine I ordered one on Amazon, it didn’t come, they refunded it, I ordered another one, both tents appeared, tents are fun, I need 2 tents), and my cat and all of his catty desires.

            So it’s my first blissful morning in the middle of nowhere, away from my noisy neighbors, not to mention the classic Montreal summer soundtrack of construction noise covering every possible decibel and frequency within the range of the human ear. I make myself a coffee and a smoothie, grab one of my many notepads, and head outside to fulfill my dream of being a weird hermit writer person, thriving in peace and solitude, happily self-banished from society. No sooner than I can write one underwhelming sentence, I hear an abominable noise emitting from beneath the deck floor. It’s unsettling, deeply obnoxious, and from multiple sources… like a group of defunct chain smokers are transmitting their low raspy voices through a hospital full of crying babies. I see four scrappy figures come into the light of day and lurch purposefully up the stairs. Two dark grey and two splotchy white with dark stripes- all ribs and claws and mucousy eyes.

Barn cats.

            I remember my initial conversation with the owner. “Can I bring my cat?” “Sure, if he likes other cats!” He was referring to his two house-cats, but neglected to mention these prickly characters. I love all animals, right?! This will be fine. What’s another four cats, on top of the two cats, on top of my giant Maine Coon cat-husband George Michael? (That’s his name) Well, being ambushed every time I come outside for one. All day every day, the 16-legged muscular cat contraption waits on the deck poised, listening for the doorknob to turn before thudding towards me at lightening speed- throwing themselves at me with all their weight, rocking me like a bus in an angry mob. I use my right leg to “redirect their energy” across the deck. I walk down the steps bare-legged to escape for a moment under the guise of scoping out the garden; and the bigger grey one, who looks like Rocky Balboa in the last round of a fight, follows me around munching on my ankles like some sortof shitty appetizer to the food he clearly thinks I’m about to give him. I feel it necessary to note here that the bigger white splotchy stripes one is the spitting image of Garrett MacLaren, a kid I went to elementary school with who was really annoying.

            Anyway I message the owner. “Heyy! How’s the trip going?? So umm, is it normal for the barn cats to be pretty… aggressive?! Do you think if I fed them, they’d leave me alone? Cool cool because presently one is eating me. Just let me know.” He writes back: “Trip is good. Please don’t feed the barn cats.” I look at them, all but foaming at the mouths, their cacophony of yowls filling the air… and I start to have some very dark thoughts. Murdery thoughts. What if I were to just accidentally… Fuck. I’m a horrible person. I go right from mind-murdering my neighbors for walking too loud, to these poor barn cats for wanting a basic fundamental need met. I Tai-Chi kick them out of my way for I wanna say… 3 more hours… then I drive to the grocery store and buy a goddamn bag of cat food. (So the owner won’t know what sneaky business I’ve been up to when both his extra-large bags of Whiskas are mysteriously empty)

            I get back, and dump what I think is a reasonable dinner-sized amount from the bag into some plastic bowls- an amount I think the bag can sustain for the full month- and those fuckers gobble it all up in 8 seconds. They immediately glare at me for more. When I don’t budge, they harrumph as though to say “I guess that’ll do for now” and lounge in the sun, temporarily taking on the appearance of normal cats. I don’t feel any warm snuggly feelings for helping these creatures- I feel resentment. They are dependent on me. They NEED ME AND IT JUST MAKES ME WANT TO HELP THEM LESS. Why can’t they be like George Michael and the house-cats? (New band alert?) Chilling like the Lion King, eating bugs, happy when I bring out some food but not like SMOTHERING ME IN A BLANKET OF THE NEEDS OF EVERY SINGLE MEAL FOR THE REST OF TIME.

            But I realize, they live a life of uncertainty. They live from meal to meal, never knowing when the next one will come. George was born into abundance- he knows his food dish will always be full, so he never needs to beg. These guys beg because they need to. They are starving, and resourceful. They know, one out of every 15 times, their “method” works, as they have proven by cat science when I caved and bought the Whiskas. The fucked up thing is, I don’t want to help them. I want to help George and the house cats- the ones who already have everything they need. They want it too much, they’re too desperate. It reminds me of dating, where we’re only interested in people who couldn’t give two shits about us, and ignore the perfectly lovely person who’s standing there with flowers. Okay maybe it’s more like the person who texts “just woke up” selfies every 10 seconds and calls you “Babe” by the second date. They mean well… It reminds me, of how most of us only want to help those who don’t really need our help, and abandon those who need it most. Have I found a deep analogy for one of the biggest problems of humankind, or am I just becoming one giant crazy cat-lady trope?!

Why do we spend money on artisanal baby shower gifts when there are homeless people? Why do we order shit from Amazon when small businesses are going bankrupt? Why do we put exorbitant amounts of funding into cops when the only reason we need them in the first place is because there are people who don’t have access to education, mental health resources and basic living wages?!?

         I think if we really go deep and allow ourselves to answer those questions, the world would be a better place. In any case, I keep feeding the damn cats. And I find, it’s easier to feed them, than not to feed them. What seemed like a burden at first makes us all better off. Like any of us who have snapped at a stranger in an A&W line at the brink of a hanger craze, they transform into their sweet, natural selves once their basic needs are met.* Ah who am I kidding they’re still pretty annoying. But there has been a softening. They feel less desperate, dare I say even kindof cute… and I feel less murdery. We’ve reached a compromise. I feed them, and they leave me alone for a while, purring by my side as I read a book, finally relaxing into the unadulterated sounds of nature.

*After publishing this essay, I learned that the reason these guys are so persistent is because they used to be fed daily by someone who has since moved away. If you or someone you know in the Montreal area is looking for a cat to adopt, these guys really are quite healthy and sweet (once they’re fed!), and you’d be saving them from almost certain death come winter when they’re left to fend for themselves. Use my contact form to reach out if you don’t know me personally. Thanks for reading!

The Artist’s Cray

I have been putting off writing a new blog post for weeks. WEEKS. Well, what’s the problem Lauren?! Don’t you literally have nothing but free time right now? Honestly it feels like I’ve been snatched up from Tokyo and barfed out straight into the desert. I’m surrounded by sand- literally NOTHING is holding me back from accomplishing all the creative projects I’ve ever dreamed of. Ugh but sand is so BORING. I want some obstacles?! Those are what make it feel like I’m choosing to do my art. Can I just go to Victoria or something?!

With nothing but freedom to do whatever I want, suddenly all these artsy things feel like chores. There’s nothing to balance it all out, no work to hype the play. To add to the craziness, I’m doing The Artist’s Way program by Julia Cameron, and I’m in week 4. Media deprivation week. Cooooool. So on top of being jobless until September 2020 at the EARLIEST, living alone and confined to my apartment except for tri-weekly trips to the grocery store or walks outside where I pretend everything is okay by focusing on all the dead-ass trees that STILL have no leaves, not to mention no contact with my friends aside from sporadic video chats where we just yell “YOUR SOUND ISN’T WORKING” at each other for an hour… I’m supposed to deprive myself of ALL THE THINGS THAT DISTRACT ME FROM THIS HELL ON EARTH?!?!?

Yeah, Julia, we all know social media, and Netflix, and the WHOLE FUCKING INTERNET are distractions from tapping into our inner artist *cut away to a waify white girl wearing a flower crown flailing like a gas station balloon to the music at Osheaga,* but I NEED THEM RIGHT NOW, OKAY?? I am on day #… I’ve lost count… of being alone 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After my 2 hours of “creating,” what the hell am I supposed to do the rest of the day?! Stare out my window at all the happy couples going on walks with their screaming babies, and contemplate my obtuse loneliness? Listen to all the ambulances in the distance and flood my mind with visuals of BODY TRAILERS?!? Mmm yeah I’m gonna need to check the fuck out once in a while. You’ll have to write a new Covid edition of your book called The Artist’s Way: Watching The Great Canadian Baking Show Counts as Art when the Alternative is a Mental Breakdown.

I think if anything, I’ve been creating LESS during media deprivation week- I’ve just been finding way more inventive ways to procrastinate. For example, in my morning pages I’ve been going on and on about wanting to write sketch and learn how to edit video, develop some jazz improv chops on violin, and learn how to use all the electronic music equipment that came in the mail a week ago… What have I actually been doing? Well, this morning, I woke up, went back to bed for a bit, then dove STRAIGHT INTO MY COMPUTER looking for gluten-free dairy-free baking recipes (add that to the list of tragedies) and painstakingly adjusting my grocery list to include expensive-ass things like almond flour, coconut sugar and brown rice syrup. Then I looked up all my friends’ birthdays on facebook, and added them, one by one, into my phone’s calendar. Colour-coded. Very very important. So not only am I breaking the no media rule HARD, I’m not doing anything remotely close to my creative dreams. Well, I also made kimchi, Thai spring rolls, hummus, and salsa out of oven-roasted tomatoes; but yet… here I am finishing off a bag of Doritos. To be fair, my period is choosing the snacks. I have no say.

While eating the first half of said bag of Doritos last night, I did do something remotely creative… it’s not a solo show that combines electronic violin music and intricate storytelling that will win my future Pulitzer, or a polished sketch of me doing something hilarious in character; but it’s umm… something.

Enjoy your chips, friends.

The Infinite Beauty of Losing your Mind

I stand facing the bathroom mirror, head of a fresh Venus ladies razor in hand detached from it’s body. I don’t know if this will work; I’ve never done it before. I angle it toward my neck, take a deep breath, and start cutting. Clumps of dirty blonde hair fall into the sink and onto my sheep-shaped bath mat, as my cat watches judgmentally. You’re finally losing your mind, aren’t you. His sharp green eyes dance back and forth following my every movement. “Whatever you do, don’t cut your bangs!” A meme joked, circulating social media during week one of isolation. Bitch I already DID my bangs, I’m in the big leagues now. I’m doing what I would normally pay $70 for plus an overly large guilt-tip all by myself, before I’ve had coffee, IN THE DARK. I haven’t even turned the lights on. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about looking like Taylor Swift on the red carpet, it’s about taking charge of my own shit. I had some dangly bits I’ve been eying with distaste in all my video chats, and it was just time to deal with them. Honestly, it looks pretty good. A $35 haircut at worst.

Look, things are getting a little rough here in Casa de la Roller. I’m single, I live alone (with judgy cat), and I have a VERY small family (just my mom and her partner who live in Nova Scotia). I have nobody to share ideas and emotions with unless I pick up a phone, nobody to eat with, nobody to rub my back or give me a hug when I’m feeling anxious. Every picture a couple posts of a delicious meal they cooked together makes me wince with pain, as I eat sardines out of a can with my fingers.

Yesterday I sent a message to a group of friends on Facebook asking what their exciting Friday night plans were, joking that I’d been invited to a zoom wine party with my mom and some other 65-year old ladies but was accepting other offers. Then I left for a long walk to the park. As I walked, I started to feel off, like it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Every inhale was shallow, while every exhale could have blown all the candles out on a senior citizen’s birthday cake. I felt like I could easily faint. I realized I was about one sloppy chess move away from a panic attack. Being just a little stubborn, I stayed my path, focusing on my breath and all the sensations in my body, ready to sit down if necessary. Exercise is what I need, I told myself, having slept horribly the last few nights because of a surplus of energy and a seemingly constant stream of ambulance sirens in my neighborhood. I tell myself when I get home, I’ll meditate for real and get myself back to normal.

The moment I walk in the door however, I reach for my phone, which I’ve left on my desk as a stern reminder to actually enjoy my walk. I’m clawing for something immediate. Something quicker than meditation. I check to see if my message got any responses. Nothing. They’ve all seen it, but nobody has taken the bait. I feel like a giant dangling high-five. I’m disgusted with how much this innocent thing is affecting me, but the reality is, I have so little in terms of human connection right now, that even the tiniest snub like that can completely derail me.

The fun and games are over. Some real shit is starting to come up that I need to deal with. I sit at my kitchen table defeated, and ask myself: “Why is this bothering me so much? Why do I need friends to respond to my texts? I don’t need to take this personally, they could be doing any number of things right now… Why do I need people to like my Facebook posts? To leave supportive comments?” Why do I rely on the validation of others to feel loved? And it hits me, why I feel so shitty. I’m clinging to something that has begun to slip away. Something I’ve depended on for so long, but don’t really need. I’m losing my identity.

I’m a professional violinist. A writer. A comedian… though I don’t quite feel I’ve earned that title yet. I’m independent, creative, optimistic. Curious, wise. I have lots of friends, I’m lovable. I’ve made sure of that since struggling all throughout my childhood and adolescence, convinced nobody liked me because one of my mom’s emotionally abusive partners drilled that into my head when I was 7 years old.

Shout-out to Helene! Hey gurrrrl *catty lip smack*

I lost part of my “identity” when all my orchestral work was cancelled until July at the earliest; and then I said goodbye to some more when I realized I don’t need to be creating “content” daily for social media to prove I’m an artist . Now I’m left with just “has lots of friends/is lovable,” and I am clinging to it like a motherfucker. (Note to self work on similes) I’m going to say something harsh here, but bear with me: Facebook is not “friends.” Facebook is fragments. It takes literally seconds to like somebody’s post or comment on it, but a real friend will take the time to actually reach out, one-on-one, and ask if you’re okay. I don’t have lots of those, but I have a few. A precious few I want to start leaning on more during this. It’s scary to ask for help right now because I know everybody is dealing with their own shit, but no amount of Facebook likes can tear me out of a funk quite like a heart to heart with someone who really knows me; and I know I can give the same in return.

I think every single one of us is fighting a very specific set of demons right now. Every time I wrap myself in a blanket cocoon and feel sorry for myself, I remind myself this is a privilege. To be alone and healthy while there are sick people out there dying, and healthy people close to murdering their families.* To be given the chance to let go of what isn’t working for me anymore. If I say goodbye to my identity, what is left? What happens when I “lose my mind?”

*This is a joke. I am funny. I AM FUNNY GODDAMMIT

In The Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle shares that amidst the most intense suicidal depression of his life, he thought the words: “I cannot live with myself any longer.” He writes: This was the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind. Then suddenly, I became aware of what a peculiar thought it was. “Am I one or two? If I cannot live with myself, there must be two of me: the ‘I’ and the ‘self’ that ‘I’ cannot live with.” “Maybe,” I thought, “only one of them is real.”

What I’m trying to say is, I think “losing your mind” is a GOOD thing. Losing your mind is quieting that part of your brain that tells you what you should be doing, and listening to the part that tells you what you want to do. It’s getting rid of that strict set of rules that determine your worth, and just allowing yourself to BE. It’s cutting your own hair, coloring for hours, making up dance routines with your cat, making a giant batch of chocolate pudding then sticking your entire face in it just because it feels good. It’s learning HOW TO BE A FUCKING KID AGAIN. Remember watching Hook when you were little and thinking “that’ll never be me?” Well we all grew up, but we’ve just been given an express ticket back to Neverland.

Let’s be honest. This fucking sucks. My inherent optimism can only get me so far during a global crisis where hundreds of thousands of people are dying alone while emergency services work themselves to the bone and the rest of us have existential crises and sob nightly at so much as an unexpected plot twist in Offspring. But these crises are breaking us down so we have a chance to rebuild in the way the universe always intended. Less judgment, more fun. Less superficial, more deep and meaningful. Less suffering, more love.

See you all on the other side.

Avoiding the Quarantine Crazies

Okay. So we are all starting to get used to this new, slower pace of life. But that doesn’t mean it’s getting easier. Sometimes I’ll think I’m actually starting to enjoy all this time to myself to relax and work on whatever project my heart desires, then within hours, I’m spiraling into a lonely self-pitying anxiety funk.

I know I’m not alone in this, but I am observing that we all have different coping mechanisms to deal with these funks. I think a lot of us are turning to booze, cannabis, netflix binges, masturbation, or wild sex romps if you’re lucky enough to be cooped up with a partner you still like… *Glares at lower neighbors menacingly* I consider all of the above to be “avoidance” techniques: ways to escape reality.

Some of us are traveling in the complete opposite direction, choosing to dwell in a constant state of terror: reading every Covid article the second it’s published and scouring Facebook to pick fights with anybody “too ignorant” to grasp the imminent danger of the current situation.

In my humble opinion, I don’t think either of these habits are completely wrong, but they definitely aren’t sustainable. We could be self-isolating for months. I think we owe it to ourselves to find a way to allow ourselves to be fully present, but not stressed the fuck out.

Even though I am single and live alone, and my family all lives out of province or country, I am coping relatively well with all this. Maybe it’s because I’m an introvert, maybe it’s because I spent a LOT of time alone as a child. But it may very well be because I am a master at extracting the good out of any situation. I’m going to share with you a list of all the things that are saving me right now, in the hopes they might help you too.

  1. When you’re feeling anxious, sad, lonely, or angry… put down that bottle of wine for a moment and just… acknowledge it. Sit down, close your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and scan your body from head to toe, paying attention to all the sensations happening no matter how small. I know personally when I’m feeling really anxious, I often feel a burning on my upper back between my shoulders. Don’t dwell on these sensations- and don’t label them as good or bad; just observe, and keep moving right the fuck along. This is essentially the technique of Vipassana meditation, which Jesus Christ himself apparently studied in India. And we all know Jesus had some pretty stressful fucking times. Did he complain once? No. Vipassana.
  2. On that note, Tara Brach has put together a great list of pandemic care resources on her website such as guided meditations and short talks.
  3. If you don’t have a live-in cuddle buddy, get yourself a gravity blanket!! I got myself this one last week when it hit me I may go months without a hug. I wrap myself in it every time I feel really anxious and I feel like a baby being swaddled. I got the 20 lb blanket even though I’m closer to 150lbs and it’s perfect. (You’re supposed to go with 10% of your body weight)
  4. Lots and lots of video chats, in all possible combinations. Mix it up! Start a Facebook thread with people you don’t know that well and start a video call! Dress up in an evening gown! Drag out your costume box and become a different character for every conversation! We are ALLOWED to get weird right now. We are re-writing all the rules people!!
  5. My freakin’ cat. Yes, he may be peeing on things more than usual because he’s not used to me being home 24/7, but it is nice to have someone to kiss on the lips and talk to nice to carry on a very normal human-cat relationship. Word on the street is the SPCA is desperate for people to adopt right now. As of the date published, the Montreal branch is still operating, and you can adopt by making an appointment.
  6. What else… okay a lot of people are doing live instagram shows right now, but my absolute favourite is Kate Bradley’s show “I Din Jus Wake Up.” You can catch it by following @redrandom and tuning in at 11am on weekdays. She is a staple in the Montreal Improv Comedy community and the show is hilarious. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to watch famous people I don’t know right now doing high-budget productions… I want to watch people in their pyjamas, drinking whiskey at 11am, yelling at their dogs and singing along to their in-house karaoke machine.
  7. Long walks. I don’t know how much longer this will be kosher, but as long as you can safely stay 6 feet away from people, going on 1-3 hour walks every day reminds me my muscles have a purpose other than bending over to pick up a chip I dropped on the floor before eating it. I particularly really enjoy watching other solo walkers sitting on a rock in the park, a smile on their face, just taking it all in. They get it. There is still so much beauty in the world.
  8. Okay so of course I still drink and smoke the green things and watch Netflix. Just, as little as possible. And I most definitely avoid anything too stress-inducing. Contagion? Pandemic?!? Jesus people what are you thinking?!? Here are my Netflix recommendations for creating a blissful bubble of ignorance for a little while: Self-Made. Please Like Me. Love is Blind. Feel Good. Queer Eye. Glow. Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. Lady Dynamite. Brooklyn Nine-Nine. The End of the F***ing World. Sex Education. Freaks and Geeks. Lovesick. Salt Fat Acid Heat. Easy. And yeah yeah, that tiger show.
  9. If you follow me on Facebook, it may seem like I have been extremely productive. In all reality, I spend most of my days sitting around on the couch wrapped in a 20lb blanket. But what I’ve taken to doing on my whiteboard fridge calendar that was previously reserved for anticipating my crazy work schedule, is RETROACTIVELY writing one thing on it every day that I did that made me happy. ONE THING. I’m not making a list of all the things I want to do or should do, I’m just going about my day doing what feels right, and then usually by the end of the day, one things pops out as somewhat useful.

Notice I added a couple of frowny-face “fails,” because while infuriating at the time, they were essential to my finally conquering said goal the next day. (That question mark for anybody wondering marks the day when I will probably erase more weeks out of my work schedule.)

You know what, I’m going to stop at 9. Because those are legit all the things that are getting me through this, and a 10th thing would be trying too hard. And this time is all about “less is more.” Let’s be okay with ourselves at our laziest, at our saddest, at our most vulnerable. If other people are being super productive and you’re not, who the fuck cares. If you see people enjoying meals with their loved ones and you’re all alone, let yourself feel sad. But don’t run to the booze the second you feel uncomfortable. Try to figure out how to give yourself what you’ve turned to other people and vices to get up until now. Trust me, you have everything you need.

Death to the Internet

It’s March 15, 2020 and the world is in lock down. A few days ago, when EVERYTHING was cancelled for the foreseeable future, my first reaction was Cool! A chance to slow down, get creative, connect with those around me on a deep level and start thinking about how to grow as a society. Well, after a minor panic at losing all my income as a freelance artist that is. I am an optimist almost to a fault and some may call me crazy, but I believe the Universe (some call it God, some The Force…) knows exactly what it’s doing. This may seem devastating, but something bigger is at play here. I have been dreaming of something that would wake us all up… something that would scare us into making big, collective changes. If we can band together to reduce the impact of coronavirus on the healthcare system, maybe we can do something similar for climate change! Maybe people will realize what’s important! It’s not “work;” it’s Family! Health! Toilet paper! Maybe by cancelling all live concerts and events, people will realize just how important artists are to a community! With all this time off, I can lean into my writing, develop my professional website, learn some new repertoire on violin, do some improvisation with all my special effects pedals, work on my solo show…

And then I went on Facebook.

Facebook (or insert any other form of social media) is a dark, dark place right now. Sure it’s full of people offering support and information, but mostly it’s people freaking the fuck out. Sharing articles on how we are 2 weeks from becoming a cesspool of disease and suffering. Coronavirus is making it’s way here from Italy quicker than pizza did in the late 50’s. (Yes I looked that up) People starting innocent threads that turn into angry emoji bloodbaths, with some internet cowboy on their high horse preaching about how THEY’RE doing things and how anybody who has a different perspective is clearly a flat-earther. I can’t. Stop. Reading. It’s partially for survival, partially because it’s FASCINATING. Before I know it, it’s 11:30 at night, my blood is boiling, and I haven’t done anything that actually makes me happy.

A “quarantined musician’s schedule” has been going around social media that my friend @auditionplaybook had the good sense to edit, and I don’t think it could be more accurate:

It’s HARD to be productive when you’re burning to a crisp in the flames of your own anxiety!!

I’m finding myself wishing that the internet would somehow just stop working. Maybe we can still call our friends and family, we can still get essential news, but the internet… just… dies. Would it be so bad if all we could do for 2 weeks is read, write, play music, cook, meditate, and go on walks? I mean, we used to live that way, didn’t we?! I went on a 10-day silent meditation retreat a while back where EVERYTHING was taken away: no phone, no books, no writing material. It was definitely “social isolation” in the sense that so much as making EYE CONTACT with fellow leg-crossers was forbidden, let alone any other form of communication. All I had to entertain myself was my own neurotic brain. (And two hairy legs with a set of tweezers) Did I go crazy? Well, yes. But after 4 or 5 days, I learned to slow down, and relish in the tiniest of details. How the sky looks completely different every day. How the greens in the tree leaves are the most vibrant just after it has rained. The woman in the cafeteria who manually peels her apple with her teeth, spitting out each partial spiral onto her plate and then looking at her bald apple with pride, before consuming it along with the spit-covered peels anyway. At the end of the 10 days, I was BLISSED the FUCK OUT because I had learned how to be fully present.

The moment my phone was handed back to me in a ziplock bag along with my keys, wallet, and contraband peanut butter, a surge of anxiety went through my body. This small hunk of glorified garbage has the power to send my brain catapulting in all directions. Did my boyfriend, who I got in a huge fight with before I left, text me? Notre Dame cathedral BURNED DOWN?! Ooh better post about how much better of a person I am now because I did this retreat… #sospiritual… Crap, nobody is liking it, should I change the wording so it sounds more humble?! Fuck it, delete…

We are ALL holding the one ring in our pockets. Within minutes of taking them into our hands, we are flooded with feelings of anger, jealousy, anxiety, greed, narcissism. In this Lord of the Rings analogy, replace Sauron, the dark lord who created the ring in the fiery pit of a volcano with… Capitalism. Whoa. Didn’t think we’d end up here, but I’m pretty sure I’m a genius. What I’m trying to say is, if you’re feeling a lot of anxiety over the next few weeks, just turn off your phone and focus on those little details. What it sounds like outside with no angry rush hour honking. How your thick winter blanket wrapped tightly around you feels almost like a hug. How your cat’s breath smells, as he meows 2 inches from your face, begging for dinner 1 hour after dinner. Like rotten fish.

#sospiritual