It's weird that we're all confined to our homes or out on the front lines.
If you're on the front lines, you could be a cashier at a KwikTrip, gloveless and face to face with the public. Or you might be stocking shelves at a supermarket. Or you might be on the staff of a hospital, inadequately protected and directly exposed to the virus.
Whether you're at home, or one of the essential workers, you're probably stressed out. The sources and the levels of your stress may be different, but stress is running high.
And that's weird. It's weird for everyone to be stressed out at the same time.
But given that we're all stressed out at the same time, it's probably best to be at least ten feet apart.
Social media is getting even more touchy.
I forwarded the same informational item to a dozen people. I received several thank you's and a few "please don't send me anymore stuff; I'm looking after my mental health." Fair enough.
Note to self: Communicating by buckshot is not ideal when everyone's so stressed out.
I'm sheltering at home, so I have less to worry about in terms of exposure to the disease. My family is sequestered here with me. And, we're introverts, suited to a limited habitat.
But, last week was long. Subjectively, insanely long: the way the seconds drag out when you're doing chin-ups.
I think I'm breathing less--like the way animals, attuned to some particular sound, pause in their breathing in order to hear it better. When I'm processing what's happening, my breathing is shallow, as though I need absolute silence to think.
Earlier, I felt ready to draw order out of chaos. I had several puddles of chaos to mop up, and a narrow window of time in the day when my mind is clear enough to tackle it:
- Over half a dozen emails describing the concern, resources, and bewilderment of administrators, counselors, and teachers who have to find new ways to feed, equip, and educate the youth of our community.
- The platforms, passwords, and class codes for planned online learning (confounds me)
- The lists of missing assignments that reach back to February! (What the heck?!)
I printed out reams of orchestra music and wished I owned a stapler.
The puddles disappear, but the chaos continues to drip, drip, drip.
My brain reached an impasse when I started writing this blog post.
The overarching theme of illness touches all, even the most ordinary things.
Am I not supposed to drive to the dog park after the governor decreed that all non-essential workers should shelter in place? Isn't there always a dog walk exception?
On the way back from the dog park, I stopped at the KwikTrip for gas and milk. With bleach-soaked handiwipes, I wiped down everything before I touched it: the gas nozzle, the key pad. I shoulder my way through doors and gates. For the second time, I wipe down the steering wheel, the door, the door latches. At home, I take off my boots, hang up my jacket, and make a bee-line to the sink to wash my hands, (though I'd already sanitized twice in the car).
It feels germaphobic and slightly mad, and at the same time, inadequate--which is weird.
Life has gotten very weird.
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