One day, we were doing pretty much what we’d do in a normal day. Wake up. Go to work (in that order for me, because I work from home now mostly). Maybe have coffee or eat breakfast after the day’s first task is done. Put on some news on the TV. You hear of some new virus spreading around the world, something that feels far away. Then, suddenly, in a span of days, it’s here, spreading like a wildfire.
Suddenly, we’re advised to stay home, for our own safety.
Weekdays are pretty easy. I never really get to do anything interesting after work on weeknights anyway, maybe a bike ride once or twice a week, depending on how the weather turns out; shoot the night sky when it’s clear enough.
It’s the weekends that are tougher to deal with.
I’d normally try to hit the nearby state or national parks when able. There’s just something about the great outdoors that rejuvenates. Watching the beauty unfold outside heals what the workweek grind takes away.
That was more than a month ago. We’re at almost 60 days in, and it’s wearing on me.
It’s wearing on me not to have that healing. It’s almost like I’m carrying 60 days worth of frustrations, negativity and angst, and this shit is just heavy and wears on you. It crushes. I feel like dying a little each day.
That and sports going away – this fucking kills.
Staying in does offer alternatives – movies, shows, video games and drinking – but life indoors easily interferes with that, and drinking without interaction with others is, well, truthfully – just drinking. Anyway, more important matters of consequence take precedence, which is very easy for those who choose to live their lives worrying about those matters.
Anyway, I hope this shit ends soon.
Before it ends me.