I didn’t post last week because I simply didn’t have the time. My life is just so incredibly hectic right now – ha, no, I’m kidding. I was just actually too busy being swallowed whole, and completely and utterly consumed, by the depths of the Hunger Games movie trilogy – man, it was looonnng.
I hadn’t watched it in forever. I even forgot a lot of what happened in the final two movies. So, I clearly couldn’t just up and quit after having watched only one! I was IN IT, and Katniss and I had to see it through, together.
But anyone with kids knows how ridiculously hard it is to watch even one movie, let alone four, so we had to break it up into short little blips throughout the week. Our marathon consisted of several evenings and one glorious day time session when the kids were sick and they serendipitously napped at the same time.
After we finished, I couldn’t help but think, are we in our own version of the Hunger Games right now!? A completely different magnitude – of course – but similar, none the less, no?
Nobody signed up for these games and yet here we are.
We were all reluctantly picked as tributes, some of us even volunteered. But the sacrifices I’ve made, like wearing a mask or postponing the limited amount of social gatherings I actually do participate in, is nothing compared to others.
On a serious note, people are dead. People are fighting for their lives and people on the frontlines are working tirelessly, through endless shifts, and have been so for the past 8 months – time taken away from their own families, in order to save others. Livelihoods are being washed away, some people can’t afford their homes, let alone their groceries anymore, and mental health issues are on the rise.
Yet, we still seem to be fighting amongst ourselves.
As Finnick said in Catching Fire, “Remember who the real enemy is….”
As 7 million Ontarians went into another lockdown this week, doomsday seems to be that much closer for others. Not to mention the feeling of melancholy that is being gently brushed across the sky as we teeter on the cusp of dreaded winter, with cold, dark, snowy days ahead of us, for months on end.
And dry hands! Incredibly dry hands – cracked beyond belief. A common side effect due to the cleanliness, and now the additional lack of humidity in the games.
On a lighter note, my kids and I ventured out from our hiding place, into the cornucopia of the world, and got some much needed cat food from PetSmart.
As we safely got our supplies, with not one hiccup in sight, I slowly turned to my daughter and smiled. She looked back at me square in eyes, penetrating the depths of my soul, her eyebrows raised as she whispered, “I have to use the bathroom, NOW!”
We immediately ventured into the back, lonely, dark alleys of PetSmart – an emergency bathroom visit was most certainly not part of our initial plan or strategy.
As we finished up, I sanitized my hands for good measure. The dull hums and buzzes of the flickering fluorescent lights above slowed the moment down to an agonizing crawl. I slowly blinked, catching the beautiful glimmer of my eyelashes against the light, and thought to myself – we did it, we made it!
But just then, as I glanced back down at my 8 month old tired hands, I saw each and every tiny crack and crevice begin to pulsate and emanate with a bright red glow, as the sterile sting travelled swiftly through my veins. Like the poison fog that shamelessly devoured our friend Mags in the barbaric quarter quell, I thought to myself, they. have. just. upped. the. game.
But that’s ok.
Because I’m ready.
We got this.