I’m trying to be productive, but…

So, I’ve been in the house for nearly a month.  Once upon a time, an introvert such as myself would dream of moments spent strictly indoors with limited human interaction.  Apparently, I am not the person I thought I was.  I thought that if I had time to myself, I would get so much writing done and at least finish the rough draft of one of my novels.  (My overactive brain is currently processing at least five novels in various stages of development.)  I thought that I would blog everyday.  This is the first blog I’ve managed to write and not just brainstorm while eating licorice and watching too much TV.

This pandemic has activated an anxiety that I have not experienced since the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001.  Then, no one was really sure what was going to happen next.  Was Washington, DC, where I went to school and worked, going to be a target?  Was it safe to leave to the house?   Now, it is definitely not safe to leave the house.  I isolated before the order was issued to shelter in place where I live.  I have asthma and my mother has chronic health issues, so if either of us is exposed to the Corona virus, it has the potential to be fatal.  FATAL!  So, if I venture out the house and someone sneezes or coughs on me, I could die or I could pass it on to my mother, which could potentially kill her.  This causes next level anxiety, beyond what I am used to handling.

Fear is paralyzing for me at times.  Sometimes if I’m not sure what to do, I end up doing nothing.  I stay informed, but am consuming as little news as possible because it is making the fear and anxiety worse.

I am trying to make an effort to do something while I am trapped at home.  I try to write a little, even if it is a sentence.  I started cleaning out my closet and made a donation box full of things I no longer need, but some other person who is out of work might need.  I move around the house, even though I mostly want to stay in my room with my cats.  I still only step out of the house to grab packages and grocery deliveries from the front porch.  I saw an ambulance on my street and wondered if it was Corona related.

So, I am not putting unrealistic expectations on myself to write the great American novel during my isolation.  I will continue to work to get a handle on my anxiety and not expect more from myself than I can do.