Gonna/Not Gonna: An Exercise in Ambivalence

Gonna nap your way out of this.

Not gonna nap your way out of this.

Gonna journal your way out of this.

Not gonna journal your way out of this.

Gonna Zoom your way out of this.

Not gonna Zoom your way out of this.

Gonna Amazon Prime your way out of this.

Not gonna Prime your way out of this.

Gonna eat your way out of this.

Try not to eat your way out of this.

Gonna meditate, yogafy, aromatherapize, positively affirmate and/or brew your own Kombucha your way out of this.

More likely gonna yell at your kids your way out of this.

Gonna cry your way out of this.

Really wish I could cry my way out of this.

Gonna Hulu, Hate Your President, handwash, and howl at 8 o'clock your way out of this. At least until—

You can inoculate your way out of this.

Gonna/Not gonna

tidy

sweep

wash

Marie Kondo-ize

worry

sidewalk chalk

advance plan

hoard

online educate

laugh

Spotify

psychoanalyze

blame

charm

walk

jog

bike

scoot

ponder infection graphs

drink

bathe

garden

podcast

self-hate

delude

bargain

condemn-those-who-don't-wear-masks-in-grocery-stores your way out of this.

Gonna see this as an opportunity to expunge all the parts of your personality that really don't work for anybody and build a new self, layer-by-layer, and start to listen more and talk less in gratingly opinionated ways, and come to terms with your anxiety about the future—any future, all the possible futures that keep you up at three a.m.—and reach out to the people in high school and college you weirdly find yourself thinking about for the first time since high school and college, some of whom you are recently coming to realize you treated quite badly, and finally really I mean it this time take seriously those PT exercises for your going-on-three-years bum shoulder your way out of this.

You're also gonna eat a lot of jelly beans.

Gonna survive this.

Not gonna survive this.

Gotta survive this.