The sick feeling in my stomach isn’t going away.

This year has seen one shitstorm after another, and I suppose everyone is feeling some form of anxiety. 2020 has brought about extraordinarily shitty things to our family, and to others, things I’m not really ready to discuss, and I am just so tired.

With this community quarantine in place, it feels like some things settled down, and other things just blew up. And it’s hard to make plans to fix things, because who knows what’s going to happen next week, next month, next quarter? Who knows how long we’ll be in limbo like this?

I feel like I’m just flitting from one tedious task to another, keeping busy, counting the hours, but not really working towards anything strategic or long-term. I feel like I’m just ticking tasks off a list, and the goal drifts further and further away. Every day, it feels like I’m just waiting for things to get worse, for more bad news.

For the most part, I can’t complain. I sleep a lot; for the past month, I have been getting eight hours of sleep most nights. I’m eating well; for the past month, we’ve been eating fresh fruits and freshly cooked vegetables almost daily. I exercise. I’m in such good health, barring the occasional headache or heatstroke. I’m with family, and we have work, and our finances are fairly stable. We have a roof over our heads, and we can go out and buy what we need, or have it delivered here.

But the anxiety persists. I can’t sit still long enough read. I can’t focus on TV shows or movies. I can’t rest. I keep looking for things to clean, to wash, to pack up, to give away, to throw away. I keep thinking about what I need to cook, what we need to buy.

I keep feeling the dread.

I wish this nightmare would end.