My work makes me a satellite, orbiting around and inside all kinds of education settings, learning spaces like public schools, private schools, lobbies, surrounded by sneezes and snots and wanting so badly to show my face, to lift the mask and show my whole face so that everyone I’m learning with and from can see my whole ol’ self. This week, I felt something was off, donned a mask for all my teaching and did a million things in front of kids and families of all ages. This is my third Covid. This is the worst one. I could barely lift my head this morning, feeling like my body was magnetized to the bed, arms heavy and belly hot. Why is it so hot already? a silly question we all know the answer to.
Today I want outside so badly. I wanted to climb four flights down the fire escape, shop for and plant one million perennials, but instead I took a shower first thing, crouched down in the tub bracing myself with two hands and let the water hit the soles of my feet, then let my hair dry weird after going back to sleep in my bed. Would love to watch Queer Eye all day but my covid co-pilot commandeered the television watching endless episodes of K.C. Undercover and cackling loudly and giggling wildly. She’s on the mend. I hope to be there tomorrow.
This week I spent an hour and a half of my early morning at the DMV, right on time for my appointment, realizing immediately upon arrival that I did not pack a pen in my bag. I looked around, made a friend, borrowed a pen from them, settled in. After a 10 minutes or so, an announcement came over the PA interrupting the relentless stream of letter + 3 digit number calls by the voice robot.
Our computer systems are down. Some license renewals and applications are not being processed. Albany is aware of the problem and is working to rectify it. Thank you for your patience.
My number got called (NUMBER U-8-0-8) and I beelined to counter N-19 where I placed my signature inside the designated lines of the box using my new friend pen and passed it under the window to the DMV worker. Am I allowed to look at the photo? No, he said, laughing, but seemed amenable to giving photo approval on my behalf. The first try was a bust, he chuckled when he looked at the screen. On my second try he told me to “just relax” and my mouth shook in a weird half-smile. He also suggested I fix my hair because, he gestured around his own head to illustrate, it looked a little crazy, I guess? I tucked my hair behind my ears which I never do and tipped my chin down trying to just relax into the N-19 camera. How was that one? It’s ok, he said. It’ll work. My face felt hot and I wondered if the blotchiness would show up on my new REAL ID. I also wondered if I’d get out of here in time to make my 10am therapy phone call. This was feeling more and more unlikely, but I pressed on, cracking my book but not really reading, instead following the numbers as they moved up the screen and watching the how-to food videos they play on a loop, serving as both a great distraction and a way to make you feel like you really should’ve packed a breakfast, maybe even a lunch.
Our computer systems are down. Some license renewals and applications are not being processed. Albany is aware of the problem and is working to rectify it. Thank you for your patience.
I waited and waited for my second counter visit (the one where I’d show various papers to prove my identity) in the hopes that the computers would pop back online, but the announcements and reading of the numbers kept coming until I ran out of time. I got on the phone with my therapist and tried to calmly explain (with noise-reduction on) where I was and my particular predicament, tried not to sound unhinged. It’s totally fine, I told her, I’ll just hop off as soon as they call my number, show them my papers, and call you right back!, working hard to balance a cheery, problem-solving tone with an undercurrent of casual calm. As soon as she had shared a few sentences about how she finds that having therapy over the phone can sometimes allow people to take calls in strange places (i.e. shopping, picking up dry cleaning, …the DMV (my addition), I spent my energy assuring her that I’d only ever been at my apartment for our virtual meetings. Oh I know I know, Lauren, and we talked more about how she was hoping to go back in person soon, but still working out the schedule. This has been in the works for many months now. I slid down the wall to crouch in a spot where I could both kinda hear the numbers and kinda see the numbers on the LED signage, started blah blah blah-ing about life. I watched my new/old pen friend exit the front doors; that felt promising.
NUMBER U-8-0-8.
_________, they called my number — I’ll call you right back! feeling/acting as if I’d won the lottery. This was going to work! I jogged over to counter E24 and the attendant explained that the computers were still down and I could wait here (indefinitely) until they come back on or take this voucher — she slides a piece of paper under the plexiglass — to come back anytime before June 15th. Ok. I didn’t get mad at all, just clipped my papers together, scanned the room filled with hundreds of people all hoping to leave with their needs taken care of. One dude was using a very strong voice to express his frustration that he had already come back once and paid the fee and why wasn’t it on his record? His arms flew up by his sides. I held the button down for a long click to reduce the noise.
Speed walked down the hall (time is money) and found a small perch in Atlantic Center near the closed Auntie Anne’s, clicked on my buds, dialed _______ and began therapy. Sometimes I stood up, avoiding the gaze of the wandering security guard while the workers at Auntie Anne’s started their day, revving up juice machines behind the chained gate. The front doors opened and throngs of high school students paraded up the escalators making as much noise as possible as teens are wont to do. I moved to another space underneath the Old Navy and kept blah blah blah-ing, circling back to my Auntie Anne’s cinderblock seat before being asked to move by the security guard. I rode the escalator blah blah-ing and paced in a small corridor by the window, the security guard watching me like he’d never seen anyone have phone therapy at the mall before or something. After the 10:50am ok, signaling that that was our time, I walked down the hall back to the DMV to see if the computers were up. No they were not and no, we have no idea when they’ll be back online. Ok, thanks. Still, surprisingly, not mad at all.
I’ll go back. Once I can leave again, I’ll zip straight over to the DMV to camp out with a pen, a good book, and a completely open schedule.
Now, as I type, my children, one in particular, is recounting extremely specific plot points and the development of multiple characters in The Descendants 2 which is a long enough movie to watch both the livestream of your dear friend’s wonderful show you were supposed to attend this evening but ended up watching while lying in your bed, and to also listen to a book release conversation between two writers that sparked an urge to write some words tonight.
I dunno. Here’s to tomorrow, I guess. Maybe I’ll be back up and running.