Today I Feel Sad

I sit in the right corner of the blue-gray heather sofa, a pink fluffy fleece blanket with white hearts over my legs to keep me from sneezing from the cold. I'm wearing black sweatpants, a blue fleece jumper over my pjs to keep me warm, and I actually manage to brush my hair today. Laptop on my lap, phone by my side, tissues close by for any sneezes, it seems like a regular work-from-home-day. 

Except for the tears that slip silently out of my eyelids and slide down to cling to my chin. Today I feel sad. 

I don't know why. I wake up feeling sad. Actually, mostly angry. I work through my emails, annoyed with all the unnecessary work Reply Alls from colleagues who cannot take a moment to distinguish between the Reply and Reply All button. I am irritated as I try to find a time for a committee that supposedly could meet anytime but actually cannot. I am upset because I greatly dislike my job but I know I am stuck in it for at least another 2 and a half years. I am scared because I don't feel confident enough to find another job where I can find meaning. 

I don't eat anything. My worried husband asks me why I don't eat. You didn't eat breakfast, you didn't eat lunch, what are you going to eat? He brings pita chips and hummus; I shake my head. He suggests spinach pies; there are 2 in the fridge for breakfast today. I shake my head. He tries to tempt me with noodles; I shake my head. I drink half a liter of water because I know my body needs it, but I cannot eat. I feel too sad to eat. 

Outside, the sky is pale blue without a cloud in sight. A breeze keeps the evergreen pine needles dancing. It's a perfect Mediterranean winter day. Not even the weather is cause for sadness. 

In online assembly today, they tribute Refaat. I am thankful for the privacy of our home so I can let the tears fall. I am thankful for a socially acceptable reason to feel sad. But during the second half of assembly, the tears are still falling. And nobody cries during a presentation on vaccines. 

My immediate and extended family are all fine. I have some things I need to take care of, but nothing too urgent or worrisome. I have my health and shelter and food. I have a regular paycheck. There are no outside reasons to be sad. 

I'm not supposed to feel sad. This is not in my nature. Everyone is experiencing difficulties during the coronavirus time and I am no exception. I should just manage the isolation, lack of community events, online church, no social outings, and no friends over for a meal like everyone else is managing. This is the new normal for now and is no reason to feel sad. 

I try to buy a jar of salsa. We go to a grocery store and they actually have it. I look at the price. 16,000 LBP which, on the old exchange rate, is about $10. I miss haystacks. If I want to eat haystacks here, I have to pay 5,000 for a bag of chips, 16,000 for a jar of salsa, 9,000 for a tub of sour cream substitute, 16,000 for a bag of dried pinto beans, 5,000 for avocadoes, 17,000 for cheese, 4,000 for half a of cucumbers, 3,000 for half a kilo of tomatoes, 3,000 for lettuce, and 7,000 for olives. For a total of 85,000. On the old exchange rate, this is $56 and even taking inflation into account, it is $29.50 for a plate of haystacks.

Grocery shopping used to be a joy for me. I always loved going grocery shopping. Before I got my driver's license, I loved the family trip to the store, cold cans of Hansen's Cherry Vanilla Creme soda sitting in the center console as a treat. After I got my license, I loved the 30-minute drive as I sang at the top of my lungs along to Luke Bryan's Crash My Party. I loved finding good deals, bagging clean groceries, watching with eagle eyes to make sure the cashier rang everything up correctly. 

Now, I hate grocery shopping. I still anticipate going, because somehow my brain still hasn't registered what an awful experience it is. From maneuvering around imbeciles who insist on right of way on the road, to trying to find a place to park, to being pushed and shoved in the fresh produce section while the one who prices the vegetables barks at you where you got the items from and promptly rings it up wrong, to searching high and low for a can of corn that doesn't cost $5, it exhausts me. I enter the store excited about stocking up but after about 30 minutes I reach shutdown mode. 

When I shutdown, I literally cannot think anymore. I stand in the grocery aisle, confused as to which brand of laundry detergent to buy, calculating price per unit on my phone but not comprehending the numbers I see. I try so hard to find a good bargain, a reasonable price, even, but it is impossible. I check the prices online for shredded cheese. It's about $5 a pound if you use the new exchange rate but my monthly salary is a third of what I used to make and that is after our salaries were doubled to help us manage the economic collapse. 

My husband asks me, What's wrong? I cannot answer him. Maybe because everything is wrong. Maybe this won't change anytime soon. Maybe I will be sad tomorrow and the day after and the day after. Maybe not. I don't know. 

All I know is that today I feel sad.