Unbelievably we are told to expect death, a lot of death. Unnecessary death due to incompetence. But please accept lots of it. Saying so somehow makes it okay. The memo has been sent. The meme prepares us. Blooding the hounds.
We are all getting tired of this. Already. And this is just the beginning. A recession is now likely. We are told to expect 30% unemployment. More words. A panacea. Because there is no safety net, no social infrastructure. So, exactly what are ‘they’ going to do with so many hungry people? Food banks are overwhelmed. Now. The worst case scenario will be a dystopian nightmare.
So, yes, people are fucking stressed. It’s so tangible you could cut it with a knife.
I have deep cleaned my kitchen, organized my pantry, planted a victory garden. Cleaned the labels off of two sake bottles, saved to use for flower vases over a year ago. Made cookies. The last time I made cookies, I was in the sixth grade.
I am a cartoon tightly drawn into a box. A shadow running down a long grey road with The Scream. But we are running six feet apart. We are told that ten feet apart is better. Where are our masks? The next day we have happy hour over FaceTime because Zoom has been collecting our personal information.
The Scream is working from home. He is moving at a time when social distancing makes it difficult, close to impossible. Her husband is a very social person and a nurse, who insists on walking with friends twice a day and she is worried. She is a nurse in Texas and trying to home school her son while doing a full time job. She is working on her dissertation in mathematics and trying to home school her daughter. They are trying to conduct their Peace Chorale together over zoom. It’s not working. She is trying to coordinate drugs for addicts throughout this and wants to scream. Choose your personal pronoun. They want to scream.
Really, I see no easy way back to normal, no way out.