Despair is trying to settle in. I’m still fine. Zero symptoms. I just have to make it to Wednesday to feel I’m in the clear. At least from the known exposure. I don’t feel like my husband and my neighbors are taking it as seriously as I, and that is tying me in knots. I understand the need to support local restaurants, and I agree the burger they brought home for me from 300 Suns was excellent (with an onion jam, on gluten free bread—very yummy). But that isn’t the only place they went around town. They went to a pet store and a building supply store and a dispensary over the entire course of the day. There were 30 confirmed cases in my county at close of business yesterday. How many asymptomatic folks are out wandering the town like my yahoos here, grabbing the same door handles, punching buttons on the same credit card readers? The risks are astronomical, and I am the only one of my friends and family who seem to believe it.
I’m really over jokes about toilet paper. I’m over people whining about boredom. This crap is real and it’s dangerous, and we are not three year olds hopped up on Easter candy. We can sit still for a few days without complaining. We folks with chronic illness do it even when it isn’t a national emergency. Embrace the stillness, cuddle your animals, and rediscover how to read, do yarn work, paint, code, or whatever you enjoy. Take out your yoga mat, do spring cleaning. Call your friends. Just stay the F home. Your own home.
I’m running the risk of really wallowing in anger and despair over the people who can’t separate long enough to save us all. I’m stopping now and leaving you with my pet pictures of the last 36 hours.
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