Help I'm stuck in academia

Note: I am privileged to not have lost my job, worried about finances, or lost anyone I personally know during the pandemic so far. This post is mostly track each month of the pandemic so that I can remember these times later on. tw // mental health.

In May, it seems like the whole idea that this will be over soon, over in two weeks, in just a bit, is fading. I take care of my plants and my snail. I try boba popsicles, and grow green onions at home. Social media is my only window into the world, and it is plastered with images of police brutality, protests, and uncertainty.

In June, it’s peach season. I make spring rolls and plant more succulents. I worry about pandemic weight gain. I make salads and workout at home. I renovate the yard of a homeless center, pivoting my energy from my plants at home to something that can be shared. I take progress pictures, studiously watch gardening videos on Youtube, and drive around the Bay to pick up boxes of donations. I’m also a Facebook Marketplace plant dealer from home, selling house plants that I can’t plant outdoors. I struggle to stay focused during work, because the Internet has many rabbit holes for me to channel my anxieties. I revamp my wardrobe, and acquire pen pals. My snail escapes, leading to several hours of worry until they’re finally found in my closet, injured but alive.

In September, I move amid smoke season. I pack up my life on my own, after several donation runs to reduce the weight. A pen pal visits. I walk the beach at sunset in my new home. The power goes out on the first night, and we eat In-N-Out by candlelight. The sky, everything, is orange. I refresh the air quality website hourly. We discover the joys of homemade hot pot. My air purifier’s filter is filthy.

In December, I have a tea advent calendar, but I drink the teas out of order. My bike gets stolen. This was a hard, dark month.

Note: I am privileged to not have lost my job, worried about finances, or lost anyone I personally know during the pandemic so far. This post is mostly track each month of the pandemic so that I can remember these times later on. tw // mental health.

In May, it seems like the whole idea that this will be over soon, over in two weeks, in just a bit, is fading. I take care of my plants and my snail. I try boba popsicles, and grow green onions at home. Social media is my only window into the world, and it is plastered with images of police brutality, protests, and uncertainty.

In June, it’s peach season. I make spring rolls and plant more succulents. I worry about pandemic weight gain. I make salads and workout at home. I renovate the yard of a homeless center, pivoting my energy from my plants at home to something that can be shared. I take progress pictures, studiously watch gardening videos on Youtube, and drive around the Bay to pick up boxes of donations. I’m also a Facebook Marketplace plant dealer from home, selling house plants that I can’t plant outdoors. I struggle to stay focused during work, because the Internet has many rabbit holes for me to channel my anxieties. I revamp my wardrobe, and acquire pen pals. My snail escapes, leading to several hours of worry until they’re finally found in my closet, injured but alive.

In September, I move amid smoke season. I pack up my life on my own, after several donation runs to reduce the weight. A pen pal visits. I walk the beach at sunset in my new home. The power goes out on the first night, and we eat In-N-Out by candlelight. The sky, everything, is orange. I refresh the air quality website hourly. We discover the joys of homemade hot pot. My air purifier’s filter is filthy.

In December, I have a tea advent calendar, but I drink the teas out of order. My bike gets stolen. This was a hard, dark month.

Note: I am privileged to not have lost my job, worried about finances, or lost anyone I personally know during the pandemic so far. This post is mostly track each month of the pandemic so that I can remember these times later on. tw // mental health.

In May, it seems like the whole idea that this will be over soon, over in two weeks, in just a bit, is fading. I take care of my plants and my snail. I try boba popsicles, and grow green onions at home. Social media is my only window into the world, and it is plastered with images of police brutality, protests, and uncertainty.

In June, it’s peach season. I make spring rolls and plant more succulents. I worry about pandemic weight gain. I make salads and workout at home. I renovate the yard of a homeless center, pivoting my energy from my plants at home to something that can be shared. I take progress pictures, studiously watch gardening videos on Youtube, and drive around the Bay to pick up boxes of donations. I’m also a Facebook Marketplace plant dealer from home, selling house plants that I can’t plant outdoors. I struggle to stay focused during work, because the Internet has many rabbit holes for me to channel my anxieties. I revamp my wardrobe, and acquire pen pals. My snail escapes, leading to several hours of worry until they’re finally found in my closet, injured but alive.

In September, I move amid smoke season. I pack up my life on my own, after several donation runs to reduce the weight. A pen pal visits. I walk the beach at sunset in my new home. The power goes out on the first night, and we eat In-N-Out by candlelight. The sky, everything, is orange. I refresh the air quality website hourly. We discover the joys of homemade hot pot. My air purifier’s filter is filthy.

Note: I am privileged to not have lost my job, worried about finances, or lost anyone I personally know during the pandemic so far. This post is mostly track each month of the pandemic so that I can remember these times later on. tw // mental health.

In May, it seems like the whole idea that this will be over soon, over in two weeks, in just a bit, is fading. I take care of my plants and my snail. I try boba popsicles, and grow green onions at home. Social media is my only window into the world, and it is plastered with images of police brutality, protests, and uncertainty.

In June, it’s peach season. I make spring rolls and plant more succulents. I worry about pandemic weight gain. I make salads and workout at home. I renovate the yard of a homeless center, pivoting my energy from my plants at home to something that can be shared. I take progress pictures, studiously watch gardening videos on Youtube, and drive around the Bay to pick up boxes of donations. I’m also a Facebook Marketplace plant dealer from home, selling house plants that I can’t plant outdoors. I struggle to stay focused during work, because the Internet has many rabbit holes for me to channel my anxieties. I revamp my wardrobe, and acquire pen pals. My snail escapes, leading to several hours of worry until they’re finally found in my closet, injured but alive.