![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Oct. 13th, 2020 08:40 pm
Positively
Well, it was bound to happen eventually: We have a COVID case in the building. I thought it would be the flight attendant, but surprise! no, it's the young woman who just gave birth.
I shouldn't say we have a "COVID case". What we have is someone who tested positive for COVID. She's still not showing any symptoms, so there's still the possibility of a false positive. My chances of having been exposed are slight, but they exist: Saturday, in the course of coming and going, I passed within a few feet of her and we chatted briefly. And there are other vectors as well: Her daughter plays with my porch neighbours, who I occasionally share food and tools with.
In a sense, I'm, if not glad, a little...reassured? I was concerned that we'd all gotten lax in our habits over the summer--completely understandably, of course. It's hard to maintain vigilance when nothing much happens. It's unnatural to be around others and not interact with them--especially a child, who can't really comprehend illness, let alone something as abstract as a pandemic. This is a wake-up call, and hopefully it came before anyone else got infected.
Like everyone else, I'm just so weary of this regimen. This afternoon, before I got the news, I try to think forward to how I would spend my evening, realised it would be the same way I spend almost every evening, and I had to think of something else before the ennui started pressing down on me. I wish I could just skip ahead to January. The nerve-wracking election season (with prolonged postelection uncertainty and chaos, possibly featuring armed insurrection) would be over, the transition would be underway, and a vaccine would most likely be in sight--three or four months away, perhaps, rather than half a year. As a bonus, I'd skip a number of death anniversaries in the bargain and the disaffection of holidays without family and friends.
But short of a coma, that's not an option allowed anyone. The price of being alive is having to live every day. I know I'll get through it--and that there will be little rewards and joys along the way---but I just don't care to, that's all.
I shouldn't say we have a "COVID case". What we have is someone who tested positive for COVID. She's still not showing any symptoms, so there's still the possibility of a false positive. My chances of having been exposed are slight, but they exist: Saturday, in the course of coming and going, I passed within a few feet of her and we chatted briefly. And there are other vectors as well: Her daughter plays with my porch neighbours, who I occasionally share food and tools with.
In a sense, I'm, if not glad, a little...reassured? I was concerned that we'd all gotten lax in our habits over the summer--completely understandably, of course. It's hard to maintain vigilance when nothing much happens. It's unnatural to be around others and not interact with them--especially a child, who can't really comprehend illness, let alone something as abstract as a pandemic. This is a wake-up call, and hopefully it came before anyone else got infected.
Like everyone else, I'm just so weary of this regimen. This afternoon, before I got the news, I try to think forward to how I would spend my evening, realised it would be the same way I spend almost every evening, and I had to think of something else before the ennui started pressing down on me. I wish I could just skip ahead to January. The nerve-wracking election season (with prolonged postelection uncertainty and chaos, possibly featuring armed insurrection) would be over, the transition would be underway, and a vaccine would most likely be in sight--three or four months away, perhaps, rather than half a year. As a bonus, I'd skip a number of death anniversaries in the bargain and the disaffection of holidays without family and friends.
But short of a coma, that's not an option allowed anyone. The price of being alive is having to live every day. I know I'll get through it--and that there will be little rewards and joys along the way---but I just don't care to, that's all.
Tags: