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Losing track


As I lose track of the hours, days, weeks, today I read a news story based on an interview with Dr. Anthony Fauci, who said this pandemic has exceded his worst nightmare, but who also offered some hope by saying that he's very confident that one or more of the vaccines being tested now will work. I believe that even if this virus is dampened down to the level of a seasonal flu (not in severity but in spread and outbreaks and availability of an effective vaccine), perhaps we will be able to return to some kind of semblance of normal.

I've been thinking about what our future holds if it doesn't settle into something more normal, something in which we can begin to gather in groups without fear of immediately stoking another outbreak, risk our lives to attend a graduation party or a birthday celebration, or perhaps just a Sunday worship service. Yes, it's come down to that. 

And if we cannot get to that point, imagine the industries that will be affected. There's the obvious -- the cruise industry, tourism in general, airlines, restaurants, hotel/motel industry, live concerts, retail. 

Marketing mania

But as I scroll through my daily email inbox, I see pleas from companies that want to sell me clothing, shoes, furniture, a company that hopes I will allow it to assign me a personal stylist. As if I needed a clothing stylist when I can't really do anything in public beyond a quick trip to Home Depot or a grocery store, a pharmacy or the landfill. 

Yep, it's come down to that, apparently. 

Why on Earth would I need new stylish clothing when I don't need to dress professionally for the office? When I can't attend a party or social event, or even happy hour, because I do not want to become deathly ill a couple of weeks afterward? No thanks. 

I have plenty of clothes to see me through at this point, thank you very much. I find myself even holding back on wearing some of my more professional attire, because why would I need to impose wear and tear on those items when it's not necessary? 

What routine?

I am apparently incapable of establishing a real routine here at home. I write stories on deadline when necessary, I try to attend virtual meetings but like today, I fail, I forget. 

I so want to be around other people, to have my life back, and yet I am terrified of getting close to people anymore.  

Squeaky

I am struggling to figure out when is the right time to take Squeaky to be euthanized. I don't want her suffering, which is not the same as struggling. I also do not want to end her life for my own convenience. It would be best if she could just go to sleep here at home and not wake up. Best for her, most certainly. Best for us, because we would not need to intervene in the divine.

I want to be gainfully employed again, and I have every reason to believe that MAC wants me to remain employed there whenever that becomes viable. But when will that be? 

Fashion, tourism, travel, entertainment, social gatherings all getting destroyed by a virus. A microbe that isn't even technically alive. It's like a fax machine destroying civilization. 

I want to find time to write my book, but what's the point? I'm going to push ahead with that, though, come what may. Books can be published and sold online. No contact necessary. 

It's getting real

There's a local family, a prominent and relatively well-off family, that thought it could go celebrate Memorial Day at the beach with impunity. But their wealth, education and social status couldn't protect them from COVID, and now they are all under quarantine, having tested positive for the virus. I don't know how much they followed social distancing, masking, sanitizing precautions. 

And I learned that a friend from high school is fighting for their life at the hospital with COVID. 

It gets more real by the day. 
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