Unhappy

It has been a testing time these past two weeks. The energy is dropping. Shoulders are drooping and mind can’t find reasons to remain happy.

Everything is fine. Almost. Work has piled up. What was exciting before is now a chore to finish. Body feels weird. Wearing a mask all day sucks.

Still, I am better than the rest. Most days I end up working from home. The days of visiting work gets me pumped up but I miss the cheer beneath the mask, the carefree banter at the water cooler or the cafeteria and a fertile imagination lost in fear .

At home, staying all day at my desk or kitchen lest I end up having backlogs makes me want to cry. I feel chained. The heat from the roof strips away my mojo and dehydrates me though I have had gallons of water.

Friends try to call me but I feel tired. I want to stay in my cocoon. I try to sing with strangers across the world and warms my heart when I do but soon I get bored. I start to draw but I don’t feel good enough about my talent. I cook few new dishes and grateful for that opportunity. But alas! I can’t eat very rich foods due to indigestion resulting from reduced physical activities. I pacify myself with writing. It seems to work .

I am not a hardworking labourer or a health worker. I am not the police nor the struggling entrepreneur. I lead a life of comfort and yet try to help others. But now I need my own uplifting. Because I figure I am trying too hard to be brave. What I really am right now is. . . Unhappy.