August 7, 2021
We were making progress. Really, we were. We got one or two shots in the arm. We cloistered for months. We wore masks, avoided crowds, estimated six-foot distances and steered clear of…everyone.
It seemed to work. We ventured out, tentatively, as if seeing the world for the first time. We resumed person-to-person conversation. We stepped inside stores and restaurants shunned for months.
We started to live pre-covid lives again. We moved on.
Or so we naively thought.
Thanks to fellow Americans who cannot look beyond the tips of their unmasked noses and unpricked arms, we get to live constricted lives again.
Game Day, an afternoon of cards and assorted table games, cancelled at a community center. Restrictive rules reinstated:
- No food or drinks allowed.
- Masks must be worn at all times.
- Proof of vaccination required.
- Most meetings and social events cancelled.
Déjà vu. Been there, done that, but must do it again.
My mental health suffers. The mental health of too many Americans remains precarious because of the worry, the unknown, the relentless negative news about the condition of public health aired on TV, radio, social media.
What can I do? What shouldn’t I do? What did I do that might endanger my health? Or someone else’s? I feel good, but what if I am asymptomatic and pass the virus on to an unsuspecting unvaccinated under-12-year-old? Or my neighbor’s dog? Or cat? Is that possible? What about the horse the mounted police use to patrol the neighborhood? Or the rabbit that eats my plants? Or the squirrel family (I assume it’s a family) that resides in my backyard tree?
How long will Covid control the country?
Am I dotty? Why am I writing only questions? Why is my brain a blur? Why do my eyes keep closing?
My mind reminds me to stop meandering and rest. Relax. Repose.
That’s it. I need soothing slumber.
Maybe I will sleep a long, peaceful snooze, and when I wake up life will be like it used to be.