A lot has happened in the last year and a half since I last posted some words. Rereading them makes me sad, because that’s where I am, yet again.

This year, my kids are at home. This year, the girls are doing remote schooling with the public school, and are increasingly annoyed at the Black Lives Matter propaganda. This year, the boy is being homeschooled. Public school would have been a complete waste of his time, with obnoxious propaganda on top of it. I can’t possibly do worse than the public schools are doing this year over zoom.

This year, I’m bitter. I’m angry, and lashing out. That’s what happens when you take away every human face and every smile from my existence. That’s what happens when you destroy every single in-person human connection in my circle of people I do things with. Nobody cares if I cry. Nobody even knows. Nobody cares if I struggle.

That’s okay. I remember what it was like to be invisible, before I had children. I remember what it was like to slip through the cracks. I remember that place deep inside of me, hard as a rock, that can take the pain and turn it into strength. I remember who I decided to be. I remember just how stubborn I’m capable of being, and how adaptable I am.

I remember my Grandma, who died in May. I remember my Grandpa who died several years ago. I don’t think I met my other grandparents. They make me feel less alone, to have them see things so very differently, and come up with different advice. There’s little that can be done, little that can be said.

Watching the world descend into madness is not fun. My popcorn machine broke. That’s not a metaphor, my daughter dropped it on the floor and it ended up in pieces. It still feels like a metaphor for this year.