I got several notes from yesterday's blog post, the reprint of a column from eight years ago. I'd forgotten about email notifications – it's been a few months since regular posting.

And I didn't go anywhere, didn't stop writing. I've just been mulling over the whole thing, moving around social media, trying to be less engaged and more at the same time. Trying to work that, in other words, and I'm not sure it's possible.

Also? After nearly 20 years of this, of public stories from my boring life, I'm pretty desperate to hear someone else's story. I actually considered just wandering around Facebook, asking friends random questions about their lives or thoughts that might take a few paragraphs to completely answer, just to have something to think about and respond to. My life really doesn't interest me that much.

So if you want to respond to a particular blog post, thanks but also? Send me a page or three about what you're doing, or what you've done. Sweet sixteen birthday, first job, first kiss, first viral infection – c'mon, you can do it. I'm counting on you.

...

The only obvious COVID change in my life has been my wife hanging around the house, but that just feels like summer and Christmas break.

But I count on socialization to keep me reasonably sane, and I always have. It feels odd to share this now with the rest of society; we've all become retirees, eager to talk and nothing better to do. I've had more waves from other walkers in the past week than I've seen in the past, and as I walked by a shuttered business the other day, a guy popped out of the front door, heading somewhere, spotted me and shouted "Hi!" as if I were walking onto a used-car lot and he was waiting. Business was closed – he was just practicing, I think.

Yesterday morning, up early and with no signs of life from my roommates, I decided to be useful and pick up my wife's prescription from the pharmacy. I haven't been around other people for three solid weeks, and it was pretty sparse for the 10 days before that, which has somehow increased my paranoia. I really don't want to get infected in the last days of March and need an ICU bed in April, when I assume there won't be any.

So my intention was to sneak into the Safeway, head immediately for the pharmacy (close to the door now, after a recent remodel), and try to be safe. Our last big Costco run was on March 1, when the first death in Washington had been announced, and I'd been carrying around a master shopping list that we'd constructed, thinking about a big buy at some point soon.

And the store felt empty, so I ended up spending 30 minutes in blissful physical distancing, never getting closer than 20 feet from other shoppers most of the time. It was impressive, and we're good now. Getting down to 5 rolls of toilet paper, which is troubling, but then I'm now pretty grateful that my wife installed a bidet a few years ago. Otherwise, though, freezer is full and we're pretty good about scavenging anyway. Sandwiches for supper bothers nobody here, and we'll save that frozen chicken for another day.

There will be other days. I wonder a lot about what they'll look like. I have a feeling I'm about to retire from community journalism, because I have a hard time figuring out how my particular community journalism will survive. I got a paycheck the other day, sitting right here on my desk as I type this, and I wonder if it'll be my last.

Not that it's a fulltime job. It's just been steady for nearly two decades, somewhat bigger checks and slightly longer columns these days, but routine. The discipline of deadlines and writing to space changed me, I'm sure. I have no idea how stopping it will change me, although I assume it will.

In the meantime, my life suddenly feels similar, relatable. I've been stuck at home for 30 years. It's nice to have company. I just wish I could, you know. Hug some of you.

Stay safe. Write once in a while.