I Appreciate Not Having a Body

The pandemic has taught me to appreciate many things, but my love of being a disembodied head came as a surprise.

I miss hugs.

I don’t miss the obligatory post-show squeeze from the drunken bar owner who let us use the backroom for free, which included a sloppy whiskey-scented kiss landing too close to my ear.

I miss the sounds of writers scribbling out their imaginations onto sheets of loose-leaf.

I don’t miss lugging folding chairs, setting them up in a tight ring in a corner of the bookstore, or shifting uncomfortably as the torturous plastic seat cuts into the sides of my ample ass.

I miss playing conductor for a chorus of college freshmen brainstorming points and counterpoints for their argumentative essays.

I don’t miss fighting the urge to yank at my low-crotching tights or worrying about how big my butt looks when I turn toward the blackboard.

Pre-pandemic, my life was nonstop. I walked holes into my boots, pushed through the Thunderdome that is Penn Station, and rode the subway to the end of the line juggling a series of side-hustles to support my “teaching habit.” The sad fact that most people know but few understand is that working as an adjunct English instructor for multiple universities isn’t enough to survive on without a…