There have often been long periods of time where my notes on other people’s Prosebox die off; or my reading of other peoples’ material takes a hiatus. And everyone is always good about saying, “Don’t worry about it.” Or saying not to feel guilty about it or all of that. So, I have decided that I do not feel guilty and do not feel bad about not reading. BUT it is still something I’d like to write about as I find it interesting and fascinating and… at times, yes, a bit shameful or inspiring of guilt.
The truth is… most of my PB reading took place at the office pre-COVID19. I would take moments like this one, where my work for almost all of the week is finished, and I would read the entries that had been written. Sometimes, I’d catch up. Sometimes not. But I’d keep at least a semi-regular reading. Then the world shifted. Nancy moved out, Work from Home became essential and acceptable, and my own emotions got a bit… heavy. So I stopped reading. Dealing with my emotions, the emotional labor of work, and the shifting realities of both “Cancel Everything, Don’t Be Social” colliding with “Nancy has moved out” then that morphing into “Nancy is actively dating and fucking other people.” Yeah. I just… I didn’t have any room left in my head or my heart for… everyone else. Sad, though, because many of the people here I honestly consider friends. There are conventions and vacations in my mind in the future where I can at least (maybe) grab a coffee or do a quick meet and greet with some of you or hang out even more if you can stand me. lol.
But when it comes to reading these days? I don’t know. It would be too convenient to blame my job. But maybe that’s what it is. So much of my job is literally reading human tragedy. “New case coming in. What does it look like.” After reading four pages of criminal complain; six pages of narrative; and reviewing the photos. “Okay. We’ve got two drunk spouses making a commotion in their backyard, son tried to calm them down as it was late and they were too loud. Dad tries to hit kid, mom jumps in front. Both parents go down to the ground fighting and screaming. Police are called and arrested both on DV Assault charges. But… we should probably add some more charges for the disturbance, the attempted attack on the child, and can I get the arrest report? As combative as they seem to be in these complaints, I’ll be surprised if they didn’t threaten or attack the arresting officers.” Rinse, repeat. My job.
So… sure. Maybe I’m just… burnt out from reading the mess that people can make of their lives and so I don’t read on prosebox (the good or the bad) because I just don’t have the emotional energy. But it does make me feel like a shitty friend. I want to know how your chickens and ducks and dogs and kids and roses and lab jobs and relationships and anxieties and… all of that! There are so many on here that I honestly think about. How is my British Doctor friend these days? Managing through COVID or have his other issues taken over? My Canadian attorney friend; is she still overworking? Canadian Behaviorist friend; how’re the kids? Missouri friend: How’ve things been as COVID rocks your area amidst people still not taking it seriously? Friends in CA, AZ, OH, NC, KY...... Des Moines to Scotland to England to Hong Kong to Tokyo… so many people I want to hear from, know how they’re doing, pray for them (in times of struggle) or celebrate with them (in times of joy). But still… when it comes down to it? I think it is two things. I think ONE: The job. TWO: The catch up. There’s no way I’m going to catch up on 4 months of entries from everyone.
And as with many things, I openly embrace that this is a “my issue.” I don’t NEED to write this. I could just slowly, silently, return to reading a few entries every day and just doing as I wish in that regard. But… honestly, it’s me. I feel compelled to own up to my lacks reading, announce my shortcoming, and reiterate that it does not reflect on my feelings towards you who write. I don’t know nor care if it matters. Just feels like something I needed to do.