The Eagle's Scream Quarantine: Week 8
Once again, Oscar has guilted me into writing a quarantine entry. (Thanks a lot, pal.) I suppose I should be more driven than ever to be writing and researching and putting together pieces, but at this point (what is it, week eight? Week nine?) I just... didn’t feel like it was worth writing one. Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of The Eagle’s Scream– immensely proud— for continuing to put out content. And mentally, I know that in a few years these entries are going to be important documentations of what life under quarantine was like. That just by recording this unprecedented instance in time is doing our part. But as conditions worsen and I find myself with less and less work to do, the existential dread has started to seep into corners of my headspace. And even though I’m really not doing much around the house— cooking/baking, walks, and reading new books lent by Eleanor’s mom (thank you to the OG homie Alison Dalton)— every day more and more Catch 22’s are popping up and paralyzing me from doing... anything. I’ll explain those in a minute, but the point is that even though I’m more relaxed on a daily basis than I’ve been for years, I’m also in a very high-strung, nerve-flaying limbo that keeps me from doing things and thus, somewhere along the line, I wondering how doing nothing could merit an entry. However, a couple of days ago I started reading through old scrapbooks and diaries. Though it’s hard to fill a notebook up, I noticed that every year of my life was more or consistently documented.. except for junior and senior year. Bombarded with work and stress and squirming under the awful, stinking weight of upcoming college applications, I consistently told myself I no longer had time for writing. In reality, it was more like I was hiding from it. I essentially censored myself– a ticking time bomb of stress— for two years. And now I realize what a huge disservice it was to myself. (I can barely remember junior year anymore, just a vague, foggy sense of doom that diluted all the bright spots). Mourning the loss of two years’ worth of writing is pointless, but I’m grateful to have caught it when I did. Writing is an important outlet that helps us make sense of very confusing times, and forces us to slow down, focus on the details, and spot emerging patterns. Patterns like those pesky little Catch-22’s. Catch 22’s That Enter My Brain Every Morning
I need to exercise. Run, do yoga, something. But I need to motivate myself to do that, and I’m only motivated when I feel like I have a fresh start, and that feeling only comes after a shower. But I can’t shower and then go sweat. Then I’ll have to take another shower. Dammit.
I need to stay off social media today, or at least temper the time being spent on it, so that I don’t start thinking of it as a source of validation again. Time would be better spent and validated talking to friends... through social media? Dammit.
I need to catch up on the news. But before I do that I need to refresh myself on which outlets are staying objective... by turning to other news outlets... Dammit.
I should make a slam poem out of those. The chorus refrain would be dammit. Anyway, I guess my point here is that nothing of much import has happened because I keep getting stuck in little whirlpools of my own design. But I’m also grateful, because I have lots of time on my hands for writing myself out of them. And I laud my fellow journalism classmates for doing the same. And that’s not to say nothing good happened this past week, either! Crunchy Nuggets of Awesomeness, Week of May 12th
I turned in my Northwestern Housing Contract and finally FaceTimed my wonderful new roommate, Yulan Guo. We had fun roasting my theatre kid past and her school’s enthusiasm for lacrosse (which I guess exists outside of Gossip Girl?? Wild.)
It was announced that Rick Riordan (known to many as ‘Uncle Rick’) is developing a second go at adapting the Percy Jackson novels into a Disney Plus series. My friends and I have been rehashing opinions, favorite passages from the books, fan art (did Viria do too good of a job illustrating Leo Valdez? Discuss) and, of course, [CENSORED]-ing on the movie adaptations.
I baked a skillet cookie. It was glorious.
PEARL'S SIGNIFICANTLY WORSE ENTRY
I don’t have anything cute n introspective to say like Lola did; all I’ve really been doing is nothing.
That’s not even true, I feel like I’ve been doing a lot, but when I pause to think about it I can’t think of one thing that’s notable enough to even mention.
I’ve completely given up on English, and I keep ignoring notifications so I don’t feel guilty about seeing Ms. Ortiz’s name and knowing she would be disappointed I’m not trying ha