Life In The Here And Now

Surreality

Are you feeling it too?

For several days now, I’ve been feeling like I’m not here. That I’ve morphed into a shrieking wraith or poltergeist with one aim: To haunt me, and me alone. What a weird sensation. Not particularly frightening but eerie to the extreme. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I started to “disappear,” as it’s been a slow progression.

No, I’m not “on anything,” nor am I experiencing what is known as a “fugue state.” I’m just struggling like everyone else to keep putting one foot in front of the other as we head down an increasingly uncertain path.

When I say, “not here,” I mean my life no longer feels real to me. Going through the motions has turned me into an automaton without any sense of who I am or where I want to go, especially with my writing, or what I should be doing to strengthen my tenuous hold on reality.

Do you know what I’m talking about? Like you’re on the outside looking in? Watching yourself work (if you have a job), tend to your home and family, juggle finances, and all the tasks we assumed prior to the pandemic…these all feel rather meaningless. A “what the hell is the point?” tinge. Yet we do them because we must.

The monotony, soul-crushing boredom, and fear of the future that defines life as we know it right now, and that has defined it for months previous feels as if someone or something has dropped an enormous boulder on my chest, making it hard for me to breathe at times.

I watch, on the other side of my life as I try to catch my breath and lighten the pressure that threatens to collapse my chest while my heart races, like a stopwatch gone awry, ticking away what’s left of my time.

I am clean out of “joy.” And I know I’m not alone.

There are days when I feel if it wasn’t for our cats, I’d take a walk on down the road and that would be that.

My relationship is being sorely tested, as well. My husband and I get on each other’s nerves. There are frequent verbal “tussles” that leave us both drained and regretful. I, especially, am quick to erupt, although I have tempered myself over the last couple of months.

When I read stories, still, of people who are filled with gratitude and love and light and all the other positive shit that I find hard to swallow, I feel both chastened and envious. How do they do it? What am I doing wrong?

What’s wrong with me?

I’ve become hyper-aware of time. “Okay. I’ve been at the writing thing for two hours now. I need to get my ass up and out. Because there are only so many hours in a day, Sherry and you need to use them well.”

But, where to go? Should I drop another hundred bucks at the grocery store for stuff we don’t need and will only go bad? (Yes, I know how blessed I am to have that hundred bucks.)

Should I go for another trek around my neighborhood, headphones on, my music blasting as I walk, determinedly, up one street and down the other? If I don’t walk at least a mile, I feel like a slug. But I don’t stop there. I come back and I work out for at least another hour. And then I go back to checking emails and stats and then I watch TV for a while and then I shower and then I start dinner and then I pour myself a glass of wine and blah, blah, blah.

When did I become so predictable?

There are far worse situations, to be sure. Not just “worse,” but tragic. People have lost loved ones or are getting sick themselves. There are those who can’t work or properly feed their families. I get this and I am sick at heart for anyone experiencing such misfortune. So please don’t look at this as me bitching or whining. I’m merely curious, as to how many of you feel as I do? Like a polar bear on an ice floe that is systematically shrinking due to global warming? Like you’re just trying to hang onto an increasingly slippery slope?

If you are on that ice floe with me, how are you handling that sense of slipping away? Conversely, how do you ground yourself? Do you feel as if having a set routine is a hindrance or benefit? I’m torn, here. I’ve always been one who craves routine, but, maybe I’ve ridden that bull into the ground. Truly, I don’t know.

As I write this, I just had an unsettling thought. Could I be dead? But the dead don’t feel anything, or do they? I can cuddle with our kitties, stroke their velvety fur, feel their claws retract as they “make biscuits” on my stomach, run a hand through my hair and feel the snag of a knot, revel in the comfort of hot water sluicing down my body under a steaming showerhead…so thankfully, my senses are still in play.

Perhaps then, this is Heaven and I’ve been given the gift of a “taste” of what life once was. Something to savor for as long as I can. And I should shelve that sensation that something is missing, that I’m missing.

But what the hell do I know? Maybe songwriter Jerry Leiber had it right when he penned the words to one of Peggy Lee’s most iconic tunes. I know my Boomer comrades will remember “Is That All There Is?” The lyrics used to make me giggle, but no longer.

Is that all there is, is that all there is If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing Let’s break out the booze and have a ball If that’s all there is

Indeed. Let’s just keep dancing, guys.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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