There’s a lot of talk in my circles about the “Before Time” vs. the “After Time”. Namely, our lives before coronavirus, and what we want them to be when it’s over.
I find both conversations unbearably bittersweet.
Don’t get me wrong, I have happy memories of the Before Time. But reminiscing only reminds me of what I can’t have right now and makes me itch.
But dwelling on what happens in the After Time is even worse.
It’s not fear of the unknown, it’s my intense dislike of not being able to predict what will happen next. I don’t know where/when/if the virus will surge again. I can’t foresee if there will be new and thrilling improvements in sanitizing public places or where/when/if we’ll have an outbreak of anti-mask idiocy. And while multiple vaccines are in the works there’s no telling when they’ll be available either.
As such I can’t plan more than a week or two ahead at best (let’s set aside that I was usually bad at planning more than a week or two ahead even in the Before Time).
Fantasizing about who I’ll see for the holidays or what fencing competition I’ll go to next just…grates. It’s like revving my engines only to stay stuck on cement blocks. It changes nothing and wastes energy I need to just to get through the inconveniences and irritations of the next few days.
Be assured I do have plans for the After Time! Lots of people I want to see, things I want to do, and places I want to go. But it’s just painful to dwell on so if I’m mute about them, this is why.
