Tuesday morning I didn't feel very well. I could see Wednesday coming up - the two-year anniversary of my dad's death. Lost in those memories, worrying about the virus, knowing that the very best plan for our country is probably a two-month stay-at-home, plus a little bit of sore throat: my breakfast wasn't too pleasant.
Additionally, Monday night our air conditioning stopped working. I spent most of the morning calling for help with that, finally got our reliable a.c. guy to promise to visit Tuesday afternoon, and of course it started working again as soon as he arrived. (This feels like calling the copier repair guy to come to the office and having the damn thing start working as soon as he comes through the door.)
Anyway, by Tuesday evening we were all cooled off, I felt better, and after all, what else did I have to do all day but fret about the a.c.? Nothing.
Yesterday, Wednesday, was a better day. We ventured out to Tallahassee Nurseries where the young people (invincible all) are cheerfully keeping their distance but are palpably NOT worried. Whatever. We purchased our plants and made a quick getaway. They aren't much, but just getting them planted felt like progress.
Also activity is stirring again in the nonprofit to which I generally devote my spare time. We are working statewide to offer at least our support groups to families and their loved ones who are struggling to cope with mental illnesses that are difficult to manage even in the best of times. Speaking with colleagues even on Zoom feels like human contact, and that cheers me.
So today I am listing the elements of my "normal" life which are most important to me and contemplating how COVID-19 has affected them:
1. Sleep. No question that I am getting more of this. One of life's miseries is getting up in the dark. So far, my fur baby is cooperating, and we sleep until the sun is up. I'm not even tempted to nap during the day - a miracle!
2. Time in the morning. Morning is the best time of day for me, always has been. As the days get longer, I'll probably get up earlier (see above about getting up in the dark.) It's not the clock time, it's the daylight. When the sun comes up earlier, I will be up earlier. And I can have my breakfast, drink coffee, read the paper (in print, always), check my email, etc., etc. I don't care if it takes me until noon. This is a luxury, no question.
3. Time to read. Never enough. Now there's enough. And that's enough said.
4. Gazing out my window. Daydreaming.
5. TV. I admit it - we are addicts.
What I miss: Going out to lunch with friends. Figuring out which nights in a week I don't have to cook (cooking is not my thing). Feeling free to just grab a protein bar when I'm between meetings and don't have time for lunch. Having the house to MYSELF while the hubs is out doing his thing. (I know this is a problem many people who live alone would love to have - but I still miss a little bit of alone time.) Listening to NPR on my radio as I flit about town (I know I could listen at home, but I just don't seem to. This is weird. I MISS NPR.) OLLI classes - for learning, for socializing, for walking around the beautiful FSU campus. Calling for pizza every once in a while and not being afraid of touching the box (so we just don't do it). Haircuts. Pedicures. Seeing the grandchildren.
What I hate: Worrying about my adult children, several of whom are in high-risk jobs. Worrying that someone will get laid off. Worrying that someone will get sick. Worrying that I will get sick, and worrying how on earth the hubs would manage if that happened. Worrying that I will contract the virus while grocery shopping, but not really trusting the delivery service. Waiting for the inevitable day where I will learn that someone I know and value, or that I don't know very well, has tested positive. It's that other shoe ....
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Monday, March 23, 2020
Pandemic journal, Monday, March 23, 2020
I woke up today in a somewhat better frame of mind. It's just the habit of my old self; I have always enjoyed Monday, a nice fresh day in a nice new week. So after a dog walk and breakfast, I filled the hummingbird feeder for the first time this year. An actual accomplishment!
Then I made myself sit at the computer and look at emails that have accumulated for several days, There are some requests for information, one promising volunteer submission for the nonprofit I am involved with, and am invitation to an online support group meeting on Wednesday and a videoconference meeting on Friday. I have finished reading my current book, made lunch, plan to venture out to a still-open plant nursery to buy some plants, and maybe even plant something, if not today, then certainly tomorrow. I have started reading a new book, and have resumed writing in this journal. The day seems fuller.
As a very busy retiree, I have had days when I would think, what would happen if I just quit all of this and walked away, spent my days here at home, reading, watching TV, puttering around? Now I think I know. Here is my thought: what if life as we knew it doesn't really up where it left off? What if this experience changes us (for the better, hopefully)? What if I am finally able to let go, relax, pull away, sleep more, exercise more, read more? And then I think - nope, probably not.
Then I made myself sit at the computer and look at emails that have accumulated for several days, There are some requests for information, one promising volunteer submission for the nonprofit I am involved with, and am invitation to an online support group meeting on Wednesday and a videoconference meeting on Friday. I have finished reading my current book, made lunch, plan to venture out to a still-open plant nursery to buy some plants, and maybe even plant something, if not today, then certainly tomorrow. I have started reading a new book, and have resumed writing in this journal. The day seems fuller.
As a very busy retiree, I have had days when I would think, what would happen if I just quit all of this and walked away, spent my days here at home, reading, watching TV, puttering around? Now I think I know. Here is my thought: what if life as we knew it doesn't really up where it left off? What if this experience changes us (for the better, hopefully)? What if I am finally able to let go, relax, pull away, sleep more, exercise more, read more? And then I think - nope, probably not.
Pandemic journal, the first weekend of self-seclusion, March 21-22, 2020
I was hit by a severe attack of ennui this weekend. Suddenly the days (empty ones) ahead seemed like an eternity, so why do anything? Restless, bored, itching from bug bites acquired in last week's yard work frenzy, I couldn't do much but bark at the hubs and just be a general Debbie Downer.
In addition to the fact that just sitting around gives me a backache, that kind of doing nothing causes some depression on my part, and I know myself well enough to recognize it and try to do something about it.
So here I am, writing again.
Saturday we tried to help out a favorite restaurant by picking up lunch. Getting in the car and driving a mile or so was nice, lunch was nice, and it did break up the day. In the late afternoon/early evening, a long phone chat with No. 2 son was a treat, as was his assurance that he and his wife are practicing safe practices in their jobs as radiology techs. Worry about them is constant, and I try to keep it on simmer.
Sunday the lethargy was worse. I could see the clock approaching noon and I was still reading the (pretty slim) newspaper. In the afternoon, our neighbor had a gathering in her back yard for the ladies on the block, and that was a welcome break in the monotony. The good news is that all of us are still healthy. Not surprisingly, no one had any great suggestions for fun quarantine activities. I've got to get cracking on this and figure out how to stop whining and get on with it.
A phone conversation with No. 1 son was a help. At least we don't have small children to manage; he and our grandchildren's mom are doing what they can, but it's a slog. Another worry: Allison, his ex, begins a new job on Monday as an LPN in a cancer treatment center. Threats abound. Our children and their loved ones are at heightened risk.
Here's the hard thing: we can't do anything. In fact, we are told that what we should do is exactly that - nothing. This is so not-me.
I will put this idea down in this space as I'm not sure anyone would be willing to entertain it, so haven't even tried to talk about it. Wouldn't a good response to this emergency be to sequester the high-risk folks (elderly, immuno-compromised, pregnant, whoever) and perhaps allow the rest of the country to attempt to keep the economy afloat? I worry that once people run out of money, things are going to get really ugly. You will do a lot of awful things when you are hungry, or when your children are. I don't have much confidence in the heroic tendencies of the desperate. A high death toll might not be the worst fate we could suffer. And I say this as an old person, with an older person living in my home. People need to work. People need money to live. People who produce food for us need a market to sell it in and customers to buy it. Is this just too dystopian to contemplate?
In addition to the fact that just sitting around gives me a backache, that kind of doing nothing causes some depression on my part, and I know myself well enough to recognize it and try to do something about it.
So here I am, writing again.
Saturday we tried to help out a favorite restaurant by picking up lunch. Getting in the car and driving a mile or so was nice, lunch was nice, and it did break up the day. In the late afternoon/early evening, a long phone chat with No. 2 son was a treat, as was his assurance that he and his wife are practicing safe practices in their jobs as radiology techs. Worry about them is constant, and I try to keep it on simmer.
Sunday the lethargy was worse. I could see the clock approaching noon and I was still reading the (pretty slim) newspaper. In the afternoon, our neighbor had a gathering in her back yard for the ladies on the block, and that was a welcome break in the monotony. The good news is that all of us are still healthy. Not surprisingly, no one had any great suggestions for fun quarantine activities. I've got to get cracking on this and figure out how to stop whining and get on with it.
A phone conversation with No. 1 son was a help. At least we don't have small children to manage; he and our grandchildren's mom are doing what they can, but it's a slog. Another worry: Allison, his ex, begins a new job on Monday as an LPN in a cancer treatment center. Threats abound. Our children and their loved ones are at heightened risk.
Here's the hard thing: we can't do anything. In fact, we are told that what we should do is exactly that - nothing. This is so not-me.
I will put this idea down in this space as I'm not sure anyone would be willing to entertain it, so haven't even tried to talk about it. Wouldn't a good response to this emergency be to sequester the high-risk folks (elderly, immuno-compromised, pregnant, whoever) and perhaps allow the rest of the country to attempt to keep the economy afloat? I worry that once people run out of money, things are going to get really ugly. You will do a lot of awful things when you are hungry, or when your children are. I don't have much confidence in the heroic tendencies of the desperate. A high death toll might not be the worst fate we could suffer. And I say this as an old person, with an older person living in my home. People need to work. People need money to live. People who produce food for us need a market to sell it in and customers to buy it. Is this just too dystopian to contemplate?
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