More than a month. And I don't have a whole lot to show for it. Sometimes I just need to vent. Do you? I hope you do because it's a load to keep inside.
Remember when we were talking about Lamb Chop? Some of you mentioned "The Song that Does Not End." Certainly that's a fine metaphor for life in the time of Covid 19. If you don't know the song, you can take a listen. Don't listen too long ... it will be stuck in your head forever.
This is one of "those" weeks. We just passed the anniversary of my mom's death. It's not like it was recent -- forty three years. But it just kind of sticks with me every year. Combine that with the lockdown and the weather and it feels bigger than it is.
The weather has been gloomy and cold. We've even had snow and the sunny days seem to be few and far between. When they come, it is windy, which makes it feel colder. I am so longing for the full force of spring.
I'm doing fine, really. So is Rick. We are healthy. We are financially OK. Some bumps that could have been big ones for him (losing a tenant from his largest duplex which is a good chunk of change) ended up well (new tenant moving in soon, and he looks like a good one).
And in all honesty, my days aren't all that different. I'm not sitting around being bored; there's plenty to do -- more than I'm doing, to be honest. There are more than a few jobs that should be getting done and aren't. No motivation. I'm too stuck to the computer. And the news. I try to wean myself from the news. I find if I watch BBC News, I get less stressed. Go figure.
I want to emigrate. Somewhere. Anywhere. But there's no place that's safe.
I'm frustrated that I'm not reading as much as I had hoped, or creating as much as I hoped (I will share a few of those things in another post; I haven't been totally idle).
I've finished all the "Midsomer Murders" and am revisiting the very old "Lovejoy" episodes on Acorn. How old is "Lovejoy"? Well, "Mrs. Hughes (Phyllis Logan) of "Downton" was the quite young, beautiful and very snappy female lead. Every now and then I can see the woman she aged into, but not so often as I'd expect!
It seems the only thing I want to do is cook. I will say, we've eaten well during this (once I finally pull an Instacart order together.) Curried chicken; parmesan, mushroom and shrimp risotto; chicken-artichoke casserole and lots of baking -- cookies, scones, lemon bread.
I have my routine. Get up, get dressed and feed Lizzie. Tidy up the kitchen. Computer and blog in the morning. I write to friends, check in on all of you. Clean Lizzie's box. Get on my breathing machine. Lunch. Take a walk (unless it's an ugly day out.) Get the mail, disinfect it and put it in the garage in its holding zone. On grocery delivery days, I disinfect the food and leave as much as possible in the holding zone. Wash the veggies and fruit in soap and water and fridge or freeze. Back to the computer. Write a letter, pay a bill. Maybe do something creative or read or poke about in the yard -- do some sort of task. Get on my breathing machine. Eventually start dinner if Rick is coming. Feed Lizzie. We eat, watch something or maybe a game. He leaves. (Or, I go to his house for dinner.) I disinfect the door handles, remotes and phone, grab a book and get back on the breathing machine. Lizzie gets her snack and I get ready for bed, where I proceed to have dreams that are clearly connected to the virus. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Mostly, I worry. I worry tremendously about the virus and about being "out there." I don't see myself going "there" till there's a good vaccine. And we all know that is a very long time. Things may lighten up and I might feel comfortable going some places where I can keep distance, but I have little desire to do so.
I worry about friends and family. I have heard of more cases of Covid among people I know directly or indirectly and the stories aren't pretty.
I worry about meat packing plants being so contaminated and reading conflicting reports as to whether or not the meat will actually be safe. I might become a vegetarian by the time this is done -- but are those safe either? At least you can wash down fruits and veggies. It's a lot harder with a pork chop.
I worry about the mail, both its safety and the safety of the postal workers who aren't being given protection by our government.
I get angry. I'm very angry at the protestors who came to my city and blocked hospital entrances and roads and who think only of themselves, while politicizing other issues with the safety of the virus. I get angry at the president for lying through his teeth every time he steps up to the podium and encourages insurrection or offers spurious medical advice. I get angry at the neighbors and others who seem to ignore social distancing rules. I get angry at those who are trying to force opening up cities that have yet to peak, much less come down. They seem to think "It's all about ME!"
And I get angry at those who are trying to tear down the scientists, the very people who are doing their best to work through this mess and keep us safe.
I'm angry that the people who are trying most to help us -- the medical workers -- have inadequate protective equipment to keep them safe.
I don't get angry often. This is a new experience for me.
And I'm sad. I'm sad that our lives have changed and that as a worldwide collective, life is different. I truly believe we will never know the normal we knew in early March or before. Maybe in your lifetime. Not, I think, in mine.
I'm sad that we don't (at least I don't) really have control. I truly don't miss my book club or shopping or board meetings or seeing most people. What I miss is knowing that I just can't go do any one of those things if I would want to. And hugs. I miss hugs.
I'm sad that my trip to England was canceled and who knows what will happen with being at the cottage this summer.
I'm sad that Rick and I can't touch. That I haven't physically touched a living thing apart from Lizzie in oh, so long.
I'm sad to not see the Toddler Twosome or the kids. And that any connection I have with a friend is yards apart and looks something like this.
I'm sad for friends who are dealing with this disease directly. And for strangers, too, who are either working in the medical field and who are walking through death corridors hour after hour, doing their very best for their patients who are ill and dying alone.
I am sad for those who are unemployed and not able to get on the unemployment rolls. And for those in states that are opening up, whether it is safe or not. Now these people may well be at great risk as they go back to work. It doesn't matter if they don't feel safe -- they cannot collect unemployment if their business is open, even if they don't work.
I'm sad for the businesses that won't survive. I know that none of them will be getting my business for many months, even old favorites. And I also know I'm not alone with that. And I'm sorry. But it's not worth it.
I'm slightly sad I look like this. And by the time this is over, I'll look a lot worse!
But I am grateful, too. Grateful for medical workers, grocery staff, food-deliverers, the postal service, kind friends who surprise me, the internet and ways to communicate or be entertained. Grateful for resources to buy food and pay my mortgage. Grateful for Rick and Lizzie and my docs and countless friends who talk me down when I get a little wired, even if they don't realize they are doing it. Grateful for the scientists and our governor and those working hard to fight this. So grateful.
It was yet another in a string of gloomy days when I wrote this and I was in quite the funk. Today the sun is out, it might be warming up. Should I hit publish? Yes, because we all need to vent. Maybe today I can pull off cheery. Because that's what I do.
Well, almost everything.
Sharing with: Let's Add Sprinkles / Pink Saturday