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I mean, I’m one of the lucky ones. I can work from home, I have my own sanctuary, I have my cat and my Netflix Party and my book club group text and a jumbo bottle of Beefeaters. But luck, in these circumstances, is definitely a relative term. In normal circs, a four-day panic attack is not<\/em> the thin end of the suffering wedge, but it is now — and I can’t even tell myself that there’s no grounds<\/em> for being worried and upset. Nope, I said, I need to call my doctor and tell her I need either an industrial-size Xanax or my own personal pulse oximeter. Or possibly both.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nevertheless, I persist. And fait accompli still applies. There’s room even in this miasmic situation — perhaps especially in this misasmic situation — for reality and humor and wry compassion for self and everyone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So I share a couple of things that have brought me solace or cracked me open or both.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Music in particular has been a source of catharsis. I might have mentioned here my love of Widor’s Toccata for organ, and how I longed to finagle some way of getting someone to play it on Kauffman Center’s organ some Symphony night. So I was scrolling through FB yesterday and saw this<\/a> — and when I unmuted it I instantly burst into sobs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n (I’d embed it but FB and WP are not playing nice.)<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n