Startled awake several times last night, heart racing, but missing the memory of whatever nightmare had slithered into my brain to horrify me. Felt sad and a bit out of control to realize I’m probably having anxiety attacks in my sleep. My exercise routine has been hit-and-miss lately, looking forward to running until I have to crawl home as soon as I post this.

Although, while walking around the neighborhood a few days ago, we spotted this, so… maybe my anxiety is here to stay for a while, get it some tea, and we’ll put our feet up and talk.

One good thing that came out of attempting to educate the kids on Henry VIII via television programming was that my oldest busted out with opinions on how some other historical figures were WAY MORE INTERESTING, and my younger teenager added that John Green HAD WAY MORE INTERESTING videos, and I said, “Oh yeah? Prove it. We meet tomorrow. Bring your videos, explain what we’re learning, and we’ll all decide who has the best thing.”

And so mainly to show me how wrong I am about everything, my kids are giving me a history lesson. Suckers.

Speaking of parent-child tense relationships and suckers, I figured that while I (introvert) am pretty wide-eyed overwhelmed by having stressed people in the house all the time, my mother (extrovert) was probably suffering, stuck in her house, alone and stressed all the time. Also, because I was born to martyr, I called her.

But also? Generally I’ve stopped calling her, ever, and right before the outbreak situation, was playing single-player guilt ping-pong in my head about the silence extending out forever, versus, “you know, the phone works both ways, why the fuck is it my job to call or feel guilty about not calling?”

But in light of changed circumstances, I thought, fuckit. Call.

She talked for an hour, and a hundred percent of it made me sad or angry, the realization of which made me again sad and angry. Her thought pattern seems to be changing in a way that’s either symptomatic of old age, or possibly depression/dementia/current event stressors/isolation. She cackled about her newly reunited widow-friend making fun of how Millennials don’t even know what a savings account is, and it made me so sad there’s a generation of parents who seemingly hate their children and find joy in thinking their children don’t understand the world. I mean, how fucking cruel can you be to think a whole generation has so little money the concept of saving it is unknown, and laugh?

She didn’t used to be that way at all. She used to have empathy and personal power and energy to see things from more than one side. I know most of it is stress, which makes most people talk in ways that shore up feelings of safety and superiority when the world might otherwise look as if it’s going to shit – I mean, lookit me, trying to feel safe and superior over her, even at the cost of looking down my nose at her. Maybe a more hopeful take would be that she was merely laughing at how obsolete savings accounts are in a world where young people realize money is better utilized elsewhere.

Anyway, the day before, she’d asked me and my sisters to put New Widow Friend on our immediate family text chain because NWF is so funny, we’d totally love her! And, not to overstate this, but I would die first. Even though I’m not sure why I feel that way.

At the start of the conversation, I’d told my mother I didn’t have much time or energy to talk. After an hour, I said, “OK, it’s the kids’ bedtime, I have to go.” Which was true.

But I could tell she hadn’t filled her need for connection, and worriedly she asked, “Did I say something wrong? Or talk too much? Is everything OK?”

And trying to not undo whatever we’d accomplished, said, “No,” but then trying to explain, added, “I just have to protect myself,” meaning from over extension of taking care of others, but of course, it was so true, it also felt mean.

As I hung up, she said, “Thank you for calling. Thank you. I really appreciate hearing from you.” And sounded like she was about going to cry. So I guess there is absolutely no way to win, no matter what.

Last night, with hummingbird heart and eyes wide in the darkness and promising myself I’d get some fucking exercise today, I was also stressing about the kids, knowing they’d probably benefit from exercise as well.

But forcing the kids to jog with me seemed even more anxiety provoking (That’s Anne Time! Also, if it’s not clear yet, they are currently adamantly and loudly complaining about anything I suggest these days).

This morning, I have hesitantly decided to take care of myself and not drag them, because Put Your Own Mask On First. Although I’m sure I will spend lots of time feeling like an asshole anyway. But will then tell myself kids are not an extension of me, if they don’t want to go on a jog, that’s probably because they are not me, they have their own feelings. I can maybe back up, let them make their own choices, and when they feel antsy, they can self-care with their own exercise.

Since taking up jogging, my butt has gotten (on my crepe to pancake butt scale) like full biscuit, break the scale level huge. No, even that is being modest. I have the ass of a centaur! And frankly, I love it. Not for the way it looks (who’s looking? Nobody!) but for the way I’m reclaiming it. I AM mutherfucking THUNDER THIGHS pounding down the street. Back the fuck up!

And finally, someone pointed out to me that Poker Face says, “F-f-fuck her face” at the end of the chorus, and I cannot unhear. And neither, now, can you.