Tsunami Sunday

It is 8:30 on Sunday night.

I am working on homework for the upcoming week.

My 16-year-old is sitting beside me working on her school work, and Sadie, the pitbull is snoring softly behind me.

The 12-year-old is in the next room trying to catch a Snorlax, and my husband has turned in for the night.

Sunday nights are the hardest, I think.

It is the night that the wave of everything from the week before crashes into me.

What will the future look like given the gravity of the recent Supreme Court vacancy?

Working on an ethics question, is the world ethical?

Over 200,000 people have died from the virus that my neighbors do not take seriously; how can they be so selfish?

Breonna Taylor’s story breaks my heart. That could have been my neighbor, my friend. What can I do?

Am I just a bystander in the world? It is Sunday night that the world falls apart for me, and an odd fear settles in. I repeatedly tell myself to focus on the task at hand. I feel I am not cut out for this. Am I making a mistake? Is this the right path? I don’t know anymore.

The online classes are challenging; I have so much anxiety cutting in during our Zoom lectures. It’s hard to ask questions to clarify the topics, my heart races. Tomorrow I will get up early and head into work where I do not feel safe. They sent someone to work from home last week. Was she sick?

No one is saying anything. Should I confront my boss about this?

My mom had a heart attack in the Spring and is at serious risk of complications if she contracts Covid-19. She does her laundry at my house every other weekend. Should I tell her not to come over for a few weeks?

I feel frozen.

How do I move forward from here?

This tsunami of thoughts and questions are racing, and I cannot focus on the work.

Why can’t I concentrate?

Think I’ll just go to bed now.

Tomorrow is a new day.