if it makes you happy

How many times during this pandemic did I find myself curled up on my couch watching an episode of a tv show I’ve watched a hundred times already because it brought me comfort when I should have been doing something, anything else? Too many times. And how many times did I just let myself sit there without guilt, without feeling like the other things I had to do were more important than finding some comfort in a storm? None.

I’ve never been able to just relax. I’ve never taken time for myself where I didn’t feel guilty while doing it, or feeling later like I wasted my time. I could have been mopping the floors or washing my car or editing my novel. Instead I was watching Homer Simpson pilot a monorail again. Instead I was watching Carla shoot sarcastic comments at Diane. I wasn’t doing anything constructive and that’s a waste of my time.

I suppose this is the fault of both my father and my grandmother, who spent the majority of my childhood chastising me for reading when there were so many other important things I could be doing. Reading was important to me, I tried to tell them. But there were leaves to be raked and meatballs to be made and probably homework to be done and I was slacking off.

The pandemic has left me tired, weary, depressed, and anxious, like a good majority of people. I have been trying to seek comfort where I can, trying to find the few things that make me happy these days that don’t involve coming in contact with other people. I can’t go out to eat or go to concerts so I’ve been looking to things to…