What do you call it when you're sad from memories you never made and your eyes burn with tears you've never cried? What do you call it when your heart feels heavy from missing people you've never known, never seen, and yet they leave traces in the corner of your mind? What do you call it when you long for a childhood you never had and stolen moments you never took? What do you call it when a piece of you is missing but you don't know what it is or where to find it so your brain tries to fill the gap in but it's all so wrong? What do you call it when it feels like you're standing in line, waiting, just waiting for something and yet you've already missed everything?

This is not quite hell, but not anywhere close to heaven.

It's not even close to what normal life should be.

I knew my 2020 was going to suck; the love of my life is gone for most of the year, and I'm 2,000 miles away from everyone I grew up with.

But dear lord, if I knew it would be this shitty, I'd have stocked up on toilet paper.

I have learned a few things while stuck in this seemingly endless monotony:

1. It takes me 23 steps to walk from the front of my apartment to the back window in my bedroom.

2. Touch starvation causes trouble sleeping (it's a scientific fact; look it up.)

3. Somehow, my cats are needier than ever. I don't particularly mind, but I keep inhaling cat hair.

4. My default state is who I was at 16 years old. I'm reading the Twilight books for the fifth time.

5. The days do not matter. Neither do nights. Time is an illusion.

6. Your car battery dies if you don't run it at least once per week. (I forgot last week, and I'm nervous to try today.)

7. I'm better at Spanish than I thought. Thanks, Duolingo.

8. My leg hair can, in fact, continue growing longer than an inch.

9. The Welsh word for dragon is "draig."

10. I do not want people to contact me as much as I once believed I did.

This pandemic has created some great memes, taught everyone how to make bread, and I'm sure it probably drove Charmin stocks through the roof.... but can it just end already?

There will be days when sleep doesn’t want to haunt you no matter how ghosted you look. Early mornings become ghastly as you stare at the ashen face in the mirror, bleary-eyed. The singsong of birds at your window as piercing as the headache that visits. Forget camomile, not even sleeping pills can cure the zombie that has awoken inside you. The zombie you wish you could put to sleep for good.

Stay strong my friend. Sleep comes when the zombies are least prepared. One day sleep will creep up, not to scare you but to gently sing you a lullaby like your mother had. Your mother’s lullaby will lull anyone to sleep. You will rest and you will survive. People say goodnight for a reason.