that's ending in a couple of weeks and i'm feeling a very particular, very painful sadness. in-office 3 days/wk. my place doing what everyone else is now doing: forgetting the lessons of the pandemic. and i don't mind saying i'm struggling more and more as the back-to-office date looms. i don't want to leave my dogs alone for, like, ten hours. my oldest is very old, and if i'm being honest, probably doesn't have more than a year, maybe two, left. i wanted to be at home for him, the way i was with my first dog, who died late in 2020. to let him out regularly so he wouldn't pee on the floor. to lift him up and down stairs, his legs stiff with arthritis. but instead, i'll be commuting and doing the exact same job across town that i was able to do in my little basement office.
last month my sister came to visit with her kids, and when she found out i was having to go back in the fall, she was indignant. couldn't you — have you tried — (no; yes; ...)
she works for her provincial government which is, apparently, level-headed and results-oriented about this stuff. and honestly, good for her. she gets up very early, five thirty or six, works for a while, drops the kids off, works till 2:30, picks up the kids, works some more. the work always getting done.
the kicker: my first day back just days after my birthday. this year i told my partner that instead of my usual birthday outing (sushi with friends at our favourite quiet restaurant) i wanted to go to the pub. get a spicy roti, maybe get painfully, nostalgically drunk. i'm no longer young. i'm really feeling it. and i know that this, all this, is the thrashing manifestation of a midlife crisis, the doors that were open in my youth all closing or closed, my old friends distant, my old friends dying, the grey in my beard joined by a nagging ache in my knee, as i wonder what else will slip away, what else isn't already gone.