Pandemic Thoughts 4

Hey, Person out there with cabin fever?

I see you. I get it. You are 300% done with staying at home all.the.damn.time.

I’m asking you, however, to hold on a while longer. How long, I cannot say. I don’t have that answer. But please, if you don’t need to go out, don’t. Flatten the hell out of the curve.

I may be an Essential Service provider, but there are moments when I resent that my need to earn money puts me in a really difficult position. I am still waiting for a shipment of latex gloves from Amazon, which I am reasonably assured will arrive anytime between yesterday and the end of this month; and I have not been able to get a mask that won’t trigger buried anxieties about being suffocated.

I honestly do not know how I made it this far without getting sick. It could also be that I am a Typhoid Mary: asymptomatic and a frightful carrier. If that were true, though, how have my husband and my daughter escaped? I am overthinking this. Totally.

Am I worried about the impact of businesses and stores re-opening? You betcha. Nothing in the news reports I have read bodes well. I’m not even sure I want to go back to the way things were before this pandemic. You know that meme that asks if you could live in near-total isolation for a million dollars for x amount of time? Cut me a cheque, find someone qualified to pilot the plane, and don’t make me put my animals in the cargo hold.

(Breathe, Vic. Inhale, count to 3, exhale.)

If only it was that easy, right?

I can tell myself this: I don’t have to go out, until I have to. Think happy thoughts. Smile at the rainbows and hearts posted in windows throughout my work travel areas. This won’t last forever.

Photo: Cottonbro

Pandemic Thoughts 3

I’m growing tired, and time stands still before me.

– Elton John, Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me

So. Story time.

I stop my car outside one of the convenience stores on my paper route. It’s about 5:00 a.m. and I’m barely stifling a stream of yawns. I keep forgetting that milky tea is as likely to put me to sleep as the caffeine in the tea is supposed to keep me awake.

For some reason, I catch sight of something dark shuffling along the paved parking lot away from the car. God help me, it’s a large, winged beetle, dragging its back legs behind it. And without a single thought, I’m talking to a crippled beetle just before sunrise.

It was a short conversation, one sided obviously. I told the beetle if it didn’t fly up onto my face – the stuff most of my insect phobias are made of – I would make a point not to run it over on my way out of the parking lot.

So it didn’t, and I didn’t. And then I told myself, it was good I didn’t harm or kill it, in case it was John Lennon or George Harrison come back to say give peace a chance. Something about entertaining angels, unawares. In that moment, I embraced a newfound Jainism.

And I finished my route, and collapsed on my sofa with moments to spare before I started teleworking at my “later in the day” job.

Irrational attempts at connecting with animals didn’t begin and end with me today, however. One of my sister-kindreds later shared a story with our group about trying to catch a “MANGY MANGY” squirrel with her bare hands in what she called a “BE MY FRIEND act of desperation” for physical contact. She conceded it was good that she didn’t. Rabies and all.

We’re an eccentric but loving bunch, what can I say?

And clearly very sleep-deprived.

Pandemic Thoughts 2

It occurred to me this morning while driving for my paper route that the time has come to update Allen Ginsberg’s Howl.

I’d start with something along the lines of, I saw the best minds of my generation collapse beneath the weight of first world problems. The pandemic will be scored by Jim Steinman and sung by Bonnie Tyler. Holding out for a hero, indeed.

The heroes of course are the essential workers. The medical personnel who have to cope daily with all kinds of shit and the aftermath of bad advice spooned out by the tin foil hatters and their dimwit leader, Donald Trump. It’s pretty bad when Lysol’s social media team has to come out with a tweet advising against human consumption of their product to cure Covid-19. No, Mr President, we do not like your sarcasm. We do not like it on a boat, we do not like it on a goat. 4 out of 5 epidemiologists agree that Dr Seuss, second only to Dr Fauci, makes perfect sense during these trying times.

I should video chat with my 3 year old granddaughter today and ask her if her thoughts on curing Covid-19 have changed. Her answer alone will be worth the smiles and laughter. She told her father that when she grows up, she’s going to be a doctor. I hope you are, darling girl, I hope you are.

I had a brief conversation with one of my newspaper customers yesterday. He happened to be opening the garage door just as I pulled up with his paper. Very kindly asked me how I’m doing. Attempt at humour followed.

No. That’s not right. I am frightened. If I take a wrong turn in my role – an essential service – as an asthmatic I could be on a ventilator in no time. He told me that he was born shortly after the end of the Second World War, and he’s lived through a lot of stuff. Never thought he’d see the day when his wife wore what amounts to a space suit to go to the bank at 5:00 a.m. to replenish their cash stores because they spent what they had to hand. Figures it will be at least another year to a year and a half before we start seeing an end to this thing.

I agreed with him. I only leave the house for work, and the rest of the time I shut out the world at home with my pets. I have come to the conclusion that there is such a thing as too much sleep. I’ve been eating what feels like my weight in junk food. If Cool Ranch Doritos are wrong, I don’t wanna be right.

Photo by from Pexels

I don’t know how we get ahead of this mess, honestly. It’s Dickens writ large: it was the best of humanity, and was the worst of humanity. I’m sat here trying to download software updates on my work computer and my husband commented on how quiet I am, I must be lost in thought.

The revolution will be led by those who survive it. Godspeed to us all.