I’m spacey and struggling to focus.
I’m isolated and lacking desire to engage.
I’m exhausted but I’ve not been out all week.
I’m tired of eating and tired of craving food.
I don’t feel something wrong with me; but, then again
I miss him, but I know he’ll return.
I’m tired of all the cooking, teaching, and wiping.
I’m tired of cleaning dishes, and the constant mess in my home.
I’m tired of constant talk of death number, positive cases and stimulating checks.
I’m bored with being home so much.
I’m sick with my mind the loudest voice in my day.
I’m reclused, going about the motions, because I have to.
I guess this is how ” the in between” is suppose to feel?
Right now, I hate it.