I HAVE SURVIVED 70 DAYS IMPRISONED INSIDE MY OWN MIND

I made it, I stayed inside, I hid from all who looked like they may have been germ carriers. That included everyone except Deysi (ol’ Bubbaloo), D2 (who came for weekly welfare checks of my sanity) and Ange who broke her isolation to also come check on us. Our other daughter Ron (and our ever supportive son-in-law), were sending, from afar, weekly food packages. We have ended this travail with more food than what we started with. Not to mention “toilet paper for years to come”. My period of looking after myself and my weight, dissolved into an eating frenzy, trying to keep up with the incoming care packages. I emerged 10 pounds heavier than when I started, and spent most of the time saying “that’s it, NO more eating, starting tomorrow …..,” and other verbal lines in the sand that I crossed with impunity.

For the eating part I am not happy. Having said that, no one force fed me. I worked long and hard in that cursed yard, that I called the Amazon Jungle. I got back, to the back corner, at about the same time that my imprisonment was up, and looking back, the places that I had worked 8-9 weeks previously, were now starting to grow in. Great I’m finally free, and can now start over at the front. I have developed a lifelong hate of weeds. I have given each type a name now. None of the names are very nice, and cannot be repeated here. Anyway you can imagine. A surprising number of them start out, nice, with the word “mother”.

My first day of freedom, I am breathing in the fresh air, flexing my garden muscle (I developed one, called my hate muscle), and thought ahhhh, what now. “I have a good idea” says Deysi. “Why don’t you clean out the 10 huge bags of cans and bottles”. As always she can bring me down with one slap. My thoughts that were drifting to the golf course, fishing, or maybe a freedom beer came crashing home. With my tail between my legs I tell her “oh what a great idea! I would love to, I’m so excited”.”Hold it” she says “don’t forget your safety gear”.

So, now with some kind of Ninja Mask, and a pair of white cloth gloves, my sun hat and long sleeves to protect my arms, I gather up a complete load of rubble. I cannot even squeeze one more crushed can into that vehicle and I indeed look like a Covid-19 warning from the dork party. Away I go. I get there and I see a line up out front, covering most of the parking lot. Cans and debris everywhere! I get in line, only to find out I’m not lined up to get inside, I’m lined up to get an available cart to start putting my goods in. And that has to be done outside from the back of your vehicle. I was standing there for a long time trying to think of a solution to my pain. Where is my “rope” is about the best I can come up with.

I decide, I must leave there and find a better solution. So fully kitted out, I pounce back in my truck and like the avenging bottle angel, I head for Comox to try their return depot out. Well I arrive, and at least feel at home, there are about 50 old guys that look almost as ridiculous as me, standing in line and patiently waiting their turn to sort cans in the middle of a parking lot. I join in, my god being free is liberating! Then, I spend the next 2-1/2 hours pulling half finished soft drink and beer cans from the bottom of black garbage bags, in 80 degree heat, dressed like a weirdo, and smelling like a pub. Finally I’m finished and gargle a bit of Lysol to get clean. I pocket my meagre earnings and head for home happily, with my loot.

I get there, come upstairs and just when I am ready to describe my pain. I’m greeted with , “what are you doing for 3 hours”? Then, “I’m not letting you out again if you are going to disappear”, “where have you been?” All I can think of is “well I was down at the bottle depot drinking tag ends of beer cans with my buddies”. Geezus! And that was my first day of freedom. I’m not sure that I want to go out anymore, I think I’ll just go back into the yard!