183// Something is Different

Something is different about today. Maybe it’s the new month, maybe it all the time I’ve gotten to spend reading, writing, and resting, or maybe I’m just coming out of an ugly funk I didn’t realize I was in, whatever the reason I’m lighter, more positive, and cheerful than I have in days.

Nothing interesting is going on today. More time spent at my desk, on the couch, in the kitchen, and in bed. I’m typing away, reading, cleaning, and napping profusely. There were a few phone calls and emails from work, but for the most part I have been free from any obligations since last Friday and look forward to more days like this through this time next week.

My wife and I are continuing to social distance and stay home as much as possible despite the city moving forward with reopening. Even just a week ago I was fighting the urge to venture out and enjoy being around people again but the more cases are rising across the country the more comfortable, the happier, I feel staying home.

We talked about our upcoming trip to the mountains in the coming weeks. We feel a little bad about breaking quarantine for a vacation.

It’s true we’re taking a risk but at least we are travelling to place less dense than our own neighborhood and we plan to spend our time either alone in our tent our outside hiking in the wilderness. What meals we eat will be takeout or on patios. We’ll wear masks and bring along hand sanitizer and wipes. We’ll do what we can to minimize the risk, but we very much need these days away from the city.

As the cases rise all around us, I’m looking further and further into the future and so much that we’d hoped to do and see just may not be possible for a long while to come. It sucks losing so much of your life to this virus (and to a White House administration that won’t take responsibility and guide the country through these tough times) but the change in perspective has been refreshing. Strangely, life spent in increased isolation with decreased consumption feels healthier.


Published by

Lisa Marie Blair

Painfully aware. Profoundly afraid. Perpetually falling in and out of love with humanity. She/They.

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