Every Day

 I will admit that when COVID-19 first reared its ugly head in its most terrible fashion, I held in a fascination: How bad will this get? I recall telling kids in those February days before we were all sent home that masks weren't really necessary. But I wondered when we would all be asked to shelter in place. As healthy as my respect is for nature, severe weather earthquakes disease drought and so on, I wondered about catastrophe coming to my world. Would there be hazmat suits and bottled oxygen. Would there be food riots? Would there be bodies in the street? Would I die? What about my family?

As we round the bend of our second full year of pandemic, that dark fascination has been replaced by extreme boredom and the complacency of surrender. How much of my life is ruled by the Way Things Are. Lining up to get whatever injection I need. Putting on a mask to answer the door. Being fully aware of the space between me and other human beings. At all times. Seeing the world around me as potential danger spots, and learning more than I ever wanted to about infectious disease. Because this is where I live now: in the heart of the humdrum worldwide pandemic. 

Will I even know what to do when we are released for this phase of reality. How will it feel for the lower half of my face to feel the breeze and see the light of day? What will replace all those reminders of germs looking for hosts that I pass along to the children at my school? How much time will we all save when we don't have to stop at the hand sanitizing station every time we go to lunch or recess or down the hall for a time out? 

I feel a bit ashamed for the thrill I had buried underneath that initial terror. How could I have known that this would become everyday life? How could I have imagined a world that could lose millions of souls to a deadly virus and still complain about the price of gasoline? 

Maybe I should have expected it.