I Apologize for Liking Isolation

Pandemically Personified, Photo by BradensEye featuring one of her isolation creations

We’ve been served a gourmet dish of liberty. I wonder if you’ve tasted the mega-sweet recipe that’s been virally making its global whooping waves and a huge stink simultaneously? It’s causing artisan’s heartbeats to flutter rapidly. Ideators are creaming in their personal to collective panties. I’ve lost count of the number of new nonprofits to companies collaboratively born thus far; this mention merely referring to friends or colleagues I know, while scads form additionally en masse publicly. Launched like fat rockets aiming to claim a new planetary possibility, some of us are feeling herculean during this monstrosity. Daily, I think how pumped Tarzan must have been learning to fly through the trees embedding with the apes. To any of you confused or unused to freedom, flexibility, reclusively, I apologize for liking isolation. Accepting new privacy rules, it’s the spire fueling mounds of my life moments into a new currency of inspiration.

If you don’t like something change it. If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it! ~Mary Engelbreit

Dose yourself with a remote revival mentality. The majority is no longer monitoring you (unless you’re letting them influentially) ~ How will you enlighten the hours? Yours truly shall bemusedly reflect a picture of her reality: I will stay up late most eves fermenting connections until my very last brain cell rages into the deepest darkness of night and the stars are so copious in the sky that I feel as if I’m dancing in a snowstorm there are so many white twinkles around me. I will snore as loudly as the roosters cracking themselves up every hour, save their brief three to four am snack break. I will fully repair via sleeping in, resembling countless doobie-smokers dotting my favored international isles. Until I’m baking between the sheets, the sun pouring in so sincerely through the blackout shades that I can no longer find peace. Then, I’ll still snuggle a scantily clad moment lingering in the fiction of what his toes will feel like sandwiched between mine. Skin to skin so well-fertilized that blooms occur daily.

Furthermore, my quarantine trance is causing graceful undulating masturbation. But not just once as per usual days or eves enjoy a partaking. Instead, dripping a dawning trio ritual until the heat from the exterior rays mixed with my own body eminence is too hot to handle horizontally and I finally agree to vertical… not far from eleven in the morning when carousing my relaxation train. And that’s just a start. I could be caught leaping across the living room rug chasing the flight of a monarch migrating by outside. I can go all out on a John John VELA bender replaying the voyage to my cardiac delight, as I stage plus demolish an epicurean meal fit for ten kings. There’s a lot of nude vacuuming to dish laundering and even bare blog story fiddling happening. The culmination of my incubation period is my inner child endlessly cartwheeling. All perfect ten’s, decadently pleased, and without any of the dizziness. Cocooning has granted many a gratuity.

Success is in the eye of the beholder…
God, it’s been a lovely day, everything’s been going my way
~
The Dresden Dolls, Good Day

My agency is acutely adaptable. I won that brawl in a pecking order contest in my mid-thirties when I decided to hand over my shame in exchange for serenity. Although, I’m hardly devoid of defects unequivocally. Porous as they come, I’m chronically combatting anxiety fearing I’m not doing enough to contribute societally. I used to chain myself to the vexation of appealing to all others. Now, I’m eagerly fixated on having one-thousand four-hundred forty recurring minutes to choose what magnitude to make or waste of them. No oversight grading me. Maybe you’re destined to henceforth be known as the Secret Lager Queen of Hot Spring. Or, perhaps humbly, you’re one keenly primed for the big time of provoking online supper club dining. Soon-to-be billions bragging about your nocturnal chef’s banquet. I’m constantly searching for cues to rebrand my own point of view. I’ve worked my ass off to get to this life station of handling such current situations as our planetary pause thankfully.

My protagonist and hypnotically intoxicated intruder are a composite one in the same. Roses rarely thrive omitting a good few bloody thorn jabs. What each has taught me is the need for tenacity. We’re wealthiest when armed with expansive relief. Every bit of this retreating can be taken poorly or move you into a comprehensively transformative position. In fact, our universal return to a space of wombing is activating self-care consciousness loudly. As with every existence on the brink any given day, we can excavate gold, investigate to hope for that identically or go on fumbling. Forget perfection to apprehend your flawless honesty. Congratulate yourself on all of the landmarks you’ve completed to the epic scenery you’ve gobbled. Touch extra sunsets. Bake spare cookies. Pen that novella. Line up all of the things you’ve ever wanted to be. Embark forth with some pathways to manifest each. Redeem your empowerment living lease.

May your Occupy Isolation movement protest pain and release liberal gain.

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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