This has now been going on for 100 days for me. I have been socially isolated and/or masked for 100 days. I’ve been out very little, but I have been out — to the grocery store or to my office for the most part.
I’m weary of the whole thing, but we’re still in the first wave!
Wear a mask, please! This is never going to be over if you don’t. People you love will die if you don’t. This is serious shit! It’s not rocket science. It’s not a liberal conspiracy.
This could have been over already! Instead, the numbers are going up. Wear. A. Mask.
Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash
I’m in a mood today. I’m as gray and cloudy as is it outside right now.
It’s technically Day 93 of my social-distancing at home. I was at the office for two full days last week. Hoo boy! The bustle and noise of downtown Huntington just did me in. It’s quiet here on my hill — very quiet. It seems I have adapted. Just getting to Huntington set my nerves on edge — I have about a half-hour commute. As far as commutes go, it’s not bad, but when you’ve been pretty much nowhere for 80-odd days, the traffic is surprising and unsettling. So much so that here it is Sunday, my favorite day of the week, and I’m still unsettled.
I was in the office to do battle with the Never-Ending Tech Problems of June 2020. Truly, my nerves are shot. I’ve spent hours in tech support trying to sort out email problems. The good news is we are moving the whole kit ‘n caboodle to cloud-based this week. The downside of that is that I will need to spend most of this coming week in the office.
Tomorrow is Chef Boy ‘R Mine’s birthday. That should cheer me up so that this mood does not persist much longer. Truly, I can’t stand myself right now, so here’s to hoping I get over my first world problems and develop some gratitude for the life of privilege that I live.
Today is Day 87 of my social isolation. I broke quarantine and went into the office. I had to. I’m up to my ass in alligators and it’s time to clean out the swamp.
It was nice to sit at my desk. I had Mexican take-out for lunch. I riffled through email and an email technology problem. I shuffled some paper around. I made a few phone calls. It was all so normal. Nice, splendid normal.
Tomorrow I will go in for what will probably be a full day. We have a big technology project underway and I don’t even know what continent my ducks are on — forget having them in a row.
Normal. It’s a nice respite, but I think it’s just that. I don’t think the pandemic is even close to over. But I’ll take a day like this now and again. Oh, yes, I will.
Enter Creator: Photographer: Nickolay Khoroshkov
Copyright: Copyright:Nickolay Khoroshkov
Information extracted from IPTC Photo Metadata.a caption Wikipedia Creative Commons
My sleep pattern is really off — even for me. It’s stress and tension and worry and current affairs. It’s not quite 5 a.m., and I’ve been up for well over an hour.
For most of my adult life, I was a night owl. Then I entered the halcyon days of going to bed at 10 p.m. with a book and waking at 6 or 7 a.m. Then the Evil Menopause occurred, and sleep became elusive. I’m either past that or have made peace with it, but now I’m stuck on the to-bed-by-8 and up at 4 a.m. pattern. This is a problem.
It’s even more of a problem now because between 8 p.m. and 4 a.m. I’m up multiple times. For water, to pee, to stare at the screen, to stare at the wall. My mind churns, and my spirit is disturbed.
With current affairs being what they are (mayhem), I am sleep deprived. I punctuate my late afternoon with a long nap, but I don’t think I’m getting enough hours in a row. My dreams are vivid and, often, disturbing. Working, writing, and tending to life’s daily chores are hard.
I need some peace, but that seems unlikely. So. I need to learn how to navigate this turmoil. These are momentous times — I need to be sharp.