Don't get me wrong. I actually do like bagpipe music. The only problem I have is that one note, the one that never varies, which underlies all bagpipe music. It doesn't matter what song they are playing. The one note carries on like a mosquito visiting a darkened bedroom in the middle of a summer night. I love Scottish music, but after a while that one note is all I can hear.
I am tired of writing about COVID-19. I'm tired of reading about it, thinking about it, worrying about it, and being bored by it. But whatever other interesting thoughts try to fight their way through, they are blocked by that never-ending drone. Understand that I do realize how incredibly lucky I am, or at least have been so far. There are, of course, no guarantees that such luck will continue. I am also well aware of all the people who are not as lucky, either losing loved ones, or trying to find a way to make ends meet with no income, or working on the many front lines of this war. I do not wish to complain.
Today I got the word that my company is extending their work at home policy to the end of May. May! It's been hard enough to keep people from erupting during this cold and rainy spring. When the weather turns nice I am afraid the people will turn ugly. And dangerously so. Demonstrators are painting depressingly inhumane slogans on their cars such as "Your health is not more important than my liberties." Really. Keeping us away from one another is not a vendetta by the government. It is a scientific way to insure that when we are allowed to reconnect we will all be together. Otherwise, there will be many missing faces in that circle. We have to stay calm and breathe through this. We have to follow the rules and keep six feet away from one another and wear the masks. For how much longer, you ask? No one knows yet. But they'll figure it out. This cannot last forever, even though it often feels as though it will.
I understand the frustration and longing and boredom and anger. I do. When my twenty-five year old son got sufficiently bored he went off for a sunny Sunday afternoon with his friends for six hours. And for the first time in his quarter-century life I was truly enraged at him. He was shocked to hear Mom drop the "F bomb" (more than once) while telling him how selfish and stupid he was. I yelled it from six feet away while standing in front of his apartment, but he (and his neighbors) knew I was angry. And frightened. More than I ever remember being in my life. He seems to have escaped unscathed, and we're "friends" again, but the incredible fragility of my world became achingly clear in that instant. We are all in serious danger, and even though it's getting "old" we cannot afford to lose our focus. Not for one ill-advised minute.
I am tired of writing about COVID-19. I'm tired of reading about it, thinking about it, worrying about it, and being bored by it. But whatever other interesting thoughts try to fight their way through, they are blocked by that never-ending drone. Understand that I do realize how incredibly lucky I am, or at least have been so far. There are, of course, no guarantees that such luck will continue. I am also well aware of all the people who are not as lucky, either losing loved ones, or trying to find a way to make ends meet with no income, or working on the many front lines of this war. I do not wish to complain.
Today I got the word that my company is extending their work at home policy to the end of May. May! It's been hard enough to keep people from erupting during this cold and rainy spring. When the weather turns nice I am afraid the people will turn ugly. And dangerously so. Demonstrators are painting depressingly inhumane slogans on their cars such as "Your health is not more important than my liberties." Really. Keeping us away from one another is not a vendetta by the government. It is a scientific way to insure that when we are allowed to reconnect we will all be together. Otherwise, there will be many missing faces in that circle. We have to stay calm and breathe through this. We have to follow the rules and keep six feet away from one another and wear the masks. For how much longer, you ask? No one knows yet. But they'll figure it out. This cannot last forever, even though it often feels as though it will.
I understand the frustration and longing and boredom and anger. I do. When my twenty-five year old son got sufficiently bored he went off for a sunny Sunday afternoon with his friends for six hours. And for the first time in his quarter-century life I was truly enraged at him. He was shocked to hear Mom drop the "F bomb" (more than once) while telling him how selfish and stupid he was. I yelled it from six feet away while standing in front of his apartment, but he (and his neighbors) knew I was angry. And frightened. More than I ever remember being in my life. He seems to have escaped unscathed, and we're "friends" again, but the incredible fragility of my world became achingly clear in that instant. We are all in serious danger, and even though it's getting "old" we cannot afford to lose our focus. Not for one ill-advised minute.
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