I’m finally succumbing to getting a standing desk.
Not my idea. I’ve been (un)comfortably perched at one end of the dining room table and it was just fine, thank you because this is temporary. Yes, even 2(!) months this it took my husband pointing out that this state of affairs is unlikely to change soon, and when things do finally start opening up I’m still likely to do a lot of teleworking. Why not commit to it?
My guess is that it will last for at least another month, and even if we do start to open up I suspect we’ll end up with a rise in infections that will send us retreating back inside again.
I have to accept that working from home is a new normal. Not my first choice – I’m one of those strange creatures who prefer going to the office to maintain a sharp divide between home and work – but continuing to make do at the cost of my comfort and health (because a standing desk will provide some much-needed exercise as well) is just stupid.
Note I say “a” new normal. I suspect we’re going to go through several over the next year as we test the waters of the outside world and try to keep things going as best we can.
A trip to the grocery shouldn’t be an adventure, especially one of the un-fun kind.
Last week I went out to pick up some prescriptions. It was the first time I’d been in a grocery (or indeed, any enclosed space other than my home) for over a month. I went out of necessity but tried to enjoy getting out of the house.
Then all the preparation came in.
Getting out of my car was like playing a neverending game of “the floor is lava”. Anything I touched might have covid19 on it but I couldn’t tell so gloves and masks were the order of the day. But even the most comfortable mask is smothering. I had to breathe through my mouth and restrain myself from touching my face to readjust it.
Even with gloves, I had to pay careful attention to what I touched: was the door automatic or did I have to open it myself? If I did, did someone touch it before me? Was my credit card already out or did I have to fish around in my purse with possibly-already-contaminated gloved hands? Did I swipe it myself or did the cashier? Was the cashier gloved? Did she change gloves after the person (6 feet) ahead of me in line?
And worst of all, did I inadvertently brush up against someone or something while I was out, necessitating not only glove disposal and furious handwashing when I got home but a change of clothes and possibly a shower as well?
In short, an activity that was so innocuous as to be forgettable in February is now an exercise in constant vigilance, and if I relax any of the dozen steps involved I risk infection or transmission of a Big Viral Bad the likes of which we’ve not seen in a century. And it’s fucking exhausting.
Maybe you aren’t this careful. Maybe you’re in a less densely populated part of the country and less likely to encounter coronavirus in everyday settings. Maybe you and yours are in good enough health that you’re not worried about catching this thing. Maybe you’re already isolated enough you’re not likely to inadvertently spread this to someone more vulnerable if you do get it.
If so, I wish you well. But I’m in a fairly dense suburb in a state with enough cases that an ice rink the next county over has been commandeered as a temporary morgue. I can’t afford to let my guard down. And increasingly the number of things I have to pay attention to Or Else is making even taking a walk less and less appealing.
The word “quarantine” is getting a lot of overuse. “Quarantine” is for people who have definitely been exposed while the rest of us are technically under stay-at-home orders or sheltering in place. Mind, the net isolation result is similar, but at least I’m not biting my nails for two weeks wondering whether I’m sick or not.
My diet has improved a bit, if only because we finished the last batches of cookies and haven’t made more. I am getting bored of cheese sandwiches – and that’s saying something because I took a cheese sandwich to school every day for the entirety of elementary school. This makes me sad because I usually love a gooey cheese sandwich right off the grill. They’re just so easy to make that I’ve finally hit my limit. Fortunately, my enthusiasm for oatmeal remains.
In mask making I’ve found something I can control in a world where I can’t control much else. There’s something meditative about the assembly line construction of multiples of the same thing: first cut all the ties, then sew together all the fronts to backs, then turn all the masks right side out, etc. I’m doing something I know how to do and there’s no pressure to match colors or sew perfect seams.
It still goes slowly though because my energy levels are in the basement and digging…every other day or so. Either I have so much nervous energy that I flit about doing busywork to avoid worrying or I zone out with comfort tv and forget all of anything I intended to do. I’m hoping this week to make it to Friday without napping after work.
Saturday I attended a Zoom workout/happy hour with a number of vet women fencers. Though I was low energy I enjoyed it and realized with a shock I’d not seen most of them in almost 2 months. I really really missed them! We’re aiming for weekly Saturday Zoom meetings, and one of the coaches is offering class twice a week as well.
Speaking of Zoom, its rapid adoption everywhere makes previously inconvenient lectures and other meetings easier to attend than before. Where it’s nearly impossible to drag myself to a downtown bookstore or other whatever it’s no big deal to log into something after dinner. Last week I “attended” a talk on historic costume and an author Q&A.
In spite of it all, most people I know aren’t pushing to end shelter in place until widespread testing is available. Indeed, I’ve only heard one person murmuring about how we’ll have to open back up the economy sometime, whether the disease is managed or not. I was polite but it pains me to hear people say things like this. Ending social distancing before we have better control over this is deciding that some lives aren’t worth saving – inevitably the old, poor, and sick. Knowing that my mother would have been among those first thrown under the bus makes me take injunctions of “well, we’ve just GOT to” pretty personally.
I still get a chuckle here and there. It cracks me up that Anthony Fauci has become some sort of heartthrob! I contracted to NIAID for years and I saw him speak on a few occasions. That he’s a great science communicator is no surprise to me. That he’s being played by Brad Pitt on SNL [YouTube] is.
Another week, another blur, though a few actual Things happened that helped me mark the days:
My birthday. A quiet celebration included a very nice gift from my husband, to use when I can have opponents again:
Not suitable for sport fencing, but I can play in the SCA and it just looks pretty. Photo Dan Philpott.
At the same time, this feels like a guilty extravagance given everything that’s going on.
Yesterday I got up early to submit to RevPit (contest for manuscript editing) but went back to bed. Part of this is tiredness but the other part sadness; it was my mother’s birthday. When I woke up I zoned out with cozy British murder mysteries for the rest of the day.
I’ve not left the house in several days. It’s not fear exactly, just frustration. Even the simplest things have become an ordeal.
Bringing anything into the house (mail, groceries) means wipedowns with homemade clorox wipes [YouTube] followed by disinfecting ourselves and every surface they’ve come in contact with. We made a “timeout box” (old piece of Tupperware) to throw the smaller mail pieces into to wait out the 24 hours coronavirus can survive on cardboard (and by extension, all paper products).
This week we’re going to start leaving our shoes at the door if we go out. So even a walk in the park is not…, well, a walk in the park.
If this seems excessive I’ve got good reason. Though we’re so careful that the odds of my getting the virus are slim, the possible effects of more severe cases do keep me up nights. Much as I might hate getting wiped out for a month, cytokine storms and multi-organ damage (not linking to nightmare fuel, feel free to double check me) are far more frightening.
I’ve started some N95 mask covers. Rather than formally volunteering to make a set number, I’m finishing what I can and then contacting them to see if there’s anywhere to send them. They’re not difficult, I just lack the confidence that I can finish them in a timely manner. My energy levels still suck and while I’m working on the sleep hygiene there’s only so much I can do about the mood.
Aiming to have 20 of these in the next few days, using up yards of scrap fabric and bias tape I’ll never use.
I’m finally stress baking and tried out the much-circulated Double Tree chocolate chip cookie recipe today. I am much impressed thus far.
My kryptonite.
My eating habits have grown strange. I’m not very hungry but invariably eat junk when I am. We’re mostly cooking in. I want to keep local restaurants afloat but bringing anything into the house is A Production as described above.
Much as I dislike lockdown I can’t even with those protesting against it. Since when is it clever to risk your health (and that of others!) to “own the libs”? It staggers me that public health has become a political issue. One would think everyone would want to be healthy, but these people either cannot understand or do not care that this isn’t about their personal freedoms being infringed. If they didn’t spread illness to everyone else I’d say let them shoot themselves in the foot but respiratory viruses do not work that way.
I have more sympathy for people who fear losing their livelihoods, though I don’t have a ready answer for them. From my privileged teleworking pedestal it’s easy to say their companies should figure out a way for them to work remotely (move all storefront retail workers into helping sell online?), or in safer facilities (how far apart can factory workers work and still be efficient?) but I’m not the expert and it’s not up to me. Which is why I’m frustrated as hell that people who know even less than I are in charge of figuring this out.
The truth is we can’t open the economy without widespread testing and none of the federal efforts seem very committed to making that happen.
Vent over. For now.
How are y’all passing the days? Hell, how are you keeping track of them?
I managed to make good on my promise of “no coronavirus this week”.
She’s so much funnier without Joker. Seriously, see Birds of Prey.
Today you get a taste of my to-read pile, curated to complement the (usual) flavor of the blog. Some of these are research for the next book, all are non-fiction. Please feel free to peruse my Goodreads at the site (follow me, I’ll follow back) or get a snapshot of my current reading just to the left of this post.
Actually, all of these links are to Goodreads because I don’t want to favor one book vendor over another:
I’ve not worn makeup or contact lenses in over a month.
I desperately need a haircut but am not to the point of DIY head shaving (yet?). I’m trying hats and headbands first. Maybe I’ll just go with a Tudor headrail for the duration.
Getting days and nights turned around over the weekend is entirely too easy, and only telework keeps me aware of what day it is. The wonky weather has me turned around as to what season it is.
I’m sure you’re all seeing calls to be grateful on your [insert social media/email list/forums/etc. here] lately. Someone starting a comment thread, or posting a quote, or speaking of meditation and other ways to ease anxiety.
I’m not knocking it – every little bit of positivity you can squeeze out of this situation is good. But personally, it’s starting to grate a little.
I can’t take any more of this cheerfulness.
Not that I don’t have anything to be grateful for, because I’m lucky compared to some: coronavirus hasn’t taken anyone from me (yet? I do still worry), me and mine are (largely) healthy, I’m employed, and I’m sheltering in place with someone whose company I enjoy and who I trust to be as careful as I am (if not more so). I don’t want to be the jerk who doesn’t acknowledge how easy they’ve got it.
But I’m grateful for some things that are just depressing and maladaptive:
I’m grateful I have pre-existing anxiety. A brain that always leaps to the worst conclusion isn’t blindsided when the sky comes crashing down. I have similar disappointments to everyone else but in a twisted way, I’m prepared. Experientially I’m sideswiped, yeah, as none of my worst nightmares included a pandemic that could go on for months and months, but my (usually) lying brain just knew it something was in the post.
Sadder though is that I’m grateful my mother died in January. Given her age and health, she wouldn’t have survived coronavirus. She would have suffocated alone, respirators allocated to people with better chances. Given shelter in place there wouldn’t have been a memorial service. But in January she went peacefully with her family around her, and we got to give her a lovely service.
I feel horrible for even admitting that. But I know that if she were still alive I’d be crawling the walls with worry and unlikely able to go to her. While I can weather everything else that would be too much.
So, confession time, if you’re so inclined. What odd, sad, or questionable things are you grateful for in this mess?
On Monday my governor issued a stay at home order. This doesn’t change much for me, as I’ve been diligently socially distancing since the 13th. But it does mean my fellow citizens who haven’t been taking this seriously must do so, at risk of imprisonment or fines.
A deterrent for those determined not to get with the program. Photo by Dan Philpott.
Save a blood donation I’ve not left my neighborhood in 2 weeks – these photos are from the park behind my house – so what I’ve witnessed in person is limited. The only time someone blocked the path I think it was cluelessness rather than deliberate flouting of social distancing. However, I don’t think everyone on my local Nextdoor is lying. Evidently some people still think dinner parties and soccer games can’t possibly hurt, that covid19 won’t affect them, and that we’ll be snapping back to The Way Things Were any day now.
A very different sun may rise. Photo courtesy Dan Philpott.
Well, no. We’re only a month in and given projections it’s going to be at least a month yet. And if the pandemic goes both as long and as bad as predicted I question whether a “normal” that led to the mismanagement of the pandemic is worth going back to.
American exceptionalism can’t be part of a new normal. The “it can’t happen here/personal freedom/USA USA USA!” attitude is why local governments are having to bring the hammer down regarding stay at home/shelter in place. Rugged individualism does not apply to public health because it affects us all. This unwillingness to face reality and stubborn “I’ve got mine” approach hobbled efforts to get on top of the pandemic.
The pandemic is also a result of distrust of experts biting us in the collective ass. I get the rampant distrust. Between the conventional press and social media, a thousand conflicting voices have all weighed in on the crisis. Working out credible from crap is exhausting and not everyone has time for it. But infectious disease experts and the medical establishment have no motive to lie to us about this. It’s not like they sit around looking forward to pandemics, if anything they try like hell to prevent them. I think the best science communicator in all this is Dr. Fauci, and wish the Mango Mussolini and his handlers would stop trying to spin this and just let him speak.
The covid-19 crisis also vividly illustrates just how poor the American health “care” system is. I’ve thought for years that health care access shouldn’t be for-profit or tied to employment. So many people are worried that if they get sick they can’t pay for it, including people with insurance.
And yet, many insurers are assuring that they will cover treatments and vaccines. Which is good, but just illustrates that a lot of conventions thought too ingrained or “radical” to change are easily reversed during a crisis. Covid-19 reveals how many seemingly arbitrary injustices and restrictions really are arbitrary, often based on either greed or petty cruelty.
How many people are going to want to go back to taking off their shoes in airports, prison for non-violent offenders, working while sick or begging for paid time off, among other indignities?
And do we really want to go back to a “normal” where money matters more than human lives? I think I’m pretty cynical but I’ve never seen that cold calculation spelled out so blatantly as I have this past week.
“Going back to normal” may well be a conservative fantasy anyway. Friends have joked that they never expected the apocalypse to include rampant baking and pet adoption, but sci-fi authors have noticed that in progressive narratives the world is never the same after a disaster, and sometimes that’s a good thing.
While life doesn’t always imitate art my inner Pollyanna hopes that after this mess at least we’ll remember that we’re all interconnected and health care and time off will be rights and not luxuries.
So what are your predictions? How will we come out of this – cooperating for a better world or doubling down on our worst impulses?
I’ve been following the news of the coronavirus since mid-February or so – whenever it became apparent that it was spreading beyond Wuhan, China. I have a casual interest in infectious disease, developed over several years contracting to different parts of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services and reading the news releases that crossed my desk.
So, I kept up with the news coming out of China and was surprised when Wuhan put the entire city on lockdown. I was aware that HHS agencies had disaster plans in place for pandemics but the possibility of it hitting Stateside seemed vague and distant, very can’t happen here.
But my husband is a risk management professional and was on high alert. He stocked up on hand sanitizer and masks as early as January. I scoffed a bit, but as guidance came out of CDC I started washing my hands for those carefully counted 20 seconds (pft to happy birthday! Calling back to my teenage goth years I’ve been counting my “hey now now”s). But what really brought it home was my competition this weekend.
Understand: fencing is not a full-contact sport. Indeed, the objective is to not let your opponent get that close (infighting notwithstanding). I was sanguine. My husband was not. Though the US Fencing Association has suspended the handshaking rule you’ve still got a lot of people breathing hard and sweating in a relatively confined space.
And though it chafed, I had to admit he had a point. The virus continues to spread and we can’t be confident just how far because of the Trump administration’s message mismanagement.
I went. I fenced incredibly well. I slathered hand sanitizer on my hands, my glove, my mask, hell, even my body cord and reel plug. And I am fine.
But much as I want to keep this good roll going I probably shouldn’t. Not because I’ll get sick—even if I do, I’m healthy enough to weather it—but because if I do I might unwittingly pass it on to someone more vulnerable.
I’m sure half of you reading are rolling their eyes. But it’s just like flu, I hear you say. You’re being paranoid. Bring back the weird news and writing tips! And I get it: nobody wants to be that wild-eyed doomsday prepper. And none of us have ever had to seriously consider the spread of a disease for which we have no vaccine or treatment, save keeping patients alive longer than the virus.
I could invoke the 1918 pandemic but it’s all but outside living memory now. Via.
So I’ll be the Chicken Little.
I sure as hell never expected to see an illness so severe it would demand event canceling and self-quarantine, either. But here we are, and even though WHO and CDC aren’t calling this a pandemic yet they are clear that it’s a big concern. Already I’m bringing my work laptop home every night in anticipation of being told of the first infection at my office. And though it makes me want to tear out my hair I’m considering avoiding fencing competitions and even my club as well.
It’s not a question of if Covid-19 going to disrupt my life, it’s a question of when, how much, and for how long. And I hope I’m wrong! And we can all have a good laugh at my alarmism.
