One Damn Day After Another

We're getting close to two full months of this; Julie's last day in the classroom was March 6, and we'd been grinding to a halt over that week anyway. I keep trying to assess the situation, staring at the calendar, checking my social media posts, attempting timeline reconstruction in an era of timelessness.

Or I could just look in the mirror. That tells the tale.

I don't mind going all Howard Hughes for the time being. The fun part of getting ragged and hairy is that it's pretty simple to fix, should I desire. I'm not sure I can tolerate a beard anymore, and then there's the idea of wearing a mask for the indefinite future, and I can guarantee that I won't be sporting a ponytail. I'll get around to personal grooming by and by.

I stepped on the scale this morning and it was 177, about the same as it's been since the fall, no worries there (anecdotally, from what I can tell, people are having issues with both stress-eating and then some kind of apparent stress-fasting; I don't, I guess). I have achy muscles from both doing a lot of lawn work and being an older dude, but I suspect mostly from disuse. Outside has become an interesting word.

And even when I let routine exercise slide a bit in normal times, I would always get out and stretch my legs, walk to the grocery store or the drugstore, try to get at least a couple of miles on the road every day. These days, my trips to buy food are journeys down Paranoia Boulevard, and as infrequent as those visits are, I always drive. I want to get in and out as quickly as possible, and with as much stuff as I can carry. Walking isn't happening.

Writing isn't either, although I feel a little better about that. I thought it had to do with all the video and audio editing I'd been doing, particularly around Easter; by the time the big day rolled around, I was out of gas, having made hundreds of creative decisions over a very few days.

But it could just be the trauma of our moment here; I've heard similar stories. Some people get less busy and creative juices start flowing; others have the opposite reaction, and that would be me.

I get my assignments done. I manage a quip occasionally. It'll get better.

I really have no insights anyway, nothing to add that doesn't sound like planned remarks from Captain Obvious. We now have over 50,000 Americans no longer breathing, and some number of them died deaths of negligence. I have no idea what the number is.

At the same time, thousands are alive because all of us are miserable, confined to our spaces and eying our bank accounts. That also seems pretty obvious.

As does the future we're all not trying to think about. Going out to the symphony and theater will be missed, but I'll definitely be skipping them even should they resume in some fashion (I'm not certain at all about that).

And I'm someone quite familiar with the lives of people whose incomes and entire careers may have been extinguished by this novel coronavirus because they need to perform for audiences. There is an artistic disaster here that will be felt for a generation, at least.

Living with an educator, I'm aware of what this has meant for teachers abruptly removed from the classroom. From what I've heard and observed, the extra time saved from lack of commute (and having to get ready, put on real clothes, etc.) has been erased by the added hours of preparation. Maybe it'll even out as everyone gets settled, but my wife usually works from late morning until the wee hours, printing and scanning and emailing.

As for me, aside from the hours I spend every week assembling video clips to approximate a Sunday spent in church, my life isn't much different, just more crowded. I've done the lawn work, and my usual cleaning with an emphasis on disinfection. I put up some shelving that I ordered off Amazon with a guilty conscience (it feels weird to order nonessential stuff, but on the other hand I'm not sure that busywork isn't essential), so I could neaten up my space and stick my projector up toward the ceiling.

Not that I'm watching anything, another anomaly and sign of the times. I have plenty of hours and there are plenty of films to see, but the focus and ability to concentrate just ain't there yet. I've been watching episodes of Community, which was always a great show but it's been years, and I stopped watching after maybe the third season. I seem to manage 22 minutes at a time all right.

And I seemed capable of writing about 900 words this morning, so I'll take that and try to do better. Not longer, maybe, but maybe better. I hate the idea of boring anyone. That threshold might be a little lower now, though. Or higher, whatever. It's all a little fuzzy at the moment.