Lately I've found myself in a pretty dreadful mood, for any number of reasons I suppose. Partially, obviously, I'm in a lot of pain and it's hard to be upbeat when every step hurts and brings a constant reminder of our own crumbling mortality. However, it's more than that. Yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving, which, in a Non-Zombie Apocalypse (or, as I've started referring to it as, the NZA) world, normally lines up with our traditional Fall Break at Champlain. One of our traditions, which is celebrated somewhere here on this blog (one of the now 2400 blog posts, because I'm just that self-absorbed), is to head up to Montreal for the Alouettes Thanksgiving day game (the CFL equivalent of the Lions or Cowboys playing every Thanksgiving here in the US, in the vastly inferior NFL). Since we can't cross the border - and since the pandemic has also canceled the CFL season - this was an impossibility. For some reason this really hit me hard, while also recognizing that in a world where over 200,000 Americans have died this is the very definition of #FirstWorldProblem (if not, #InsensitiveWanker). That said, I try to be honest here on the blog, which means I also need to admit that it did give me the blues, and seemed like a metaphor for all that we're giving up at this moment. And it reminded me that I won't be going to Jordan next month - nor Palestine and Australia in the spring - and who knows if I'll go anywhere over the summer - or even next fall. I guess I've defined myself too much by my travel. That said, I also try to keep in mind that I'm one of the lucky ones, and that soon, soon, all too soon I'll be back on a plane heading somewhere. And even the multiple surgeries that are lining up will in the end empower me to get there; truthfully, I couldn't pull off any trip at the moment.
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