The Washington Post's sports section was all of three pages this morning, one of which was filled with Tom Brady. The husband commented that at least for once, they had scores of every sporting event, not just the popular ones. There is one article on the Post's front page not directly linked to the coronavirus; that would be an Election 2020 article, "Sanders may be open to dropping out, team signals." In the 28-page section A, there is one page with no report related to the coronavirus while three of the pages are full-page ads. The pandemic has become our life.
Time is distorted. I look at my watch to see what day of the week it is. There is no "I did this weekly thing yesterday, so today is Thursday." I can't connect one day to another by personal events. The totals of confirmed infected and those who have died rise so quickly that I think several days must have passed. The data analyst I once was tries to repress what the sharp rise really means. The best description of time may be something I saw on Facebook (sorry, but I don't remember the source): What a year this week has been.
And it's going to last a lot longer, I fear, having seen the photos of the Florida beaches during Spring Break. I read a local report of crowded fraternity parties and a large number of students massing and mingling on one of the university's playing fields. Having heard that the number of young people hospitalized with covid-19 is rising, these gatherings could be the breeding ground for the next viral wave. Let's hope that it isn't a tsunami.
It occurred to me that the constant co-existing with the husband could be a harbinger of his retirement. I am used to spending full days in the company of a dog and a cat; having another human in the house 24-7 is something new. So far, so good. That said, he's spending most daytime hours in what passes for his home office, with the door closed to protect the yarn that is also in the room from the wool-crazy cat. I remember a senior woman telling me the story of what happened when her husband retired. She worked part-time from home. When passing through the dining room to get to the kitchen, she found her husband sitting at the table patiently waiting. The punchline to the story was what she said next: "I married him for life, not for lunch." He learned that fairly quickly as I recall.
The White House has issued a document, "15 Days to Slow the Spread." Fifteen days should slow the spread, but if everyone immediately goes back to living their pre-coronavirus lives, we won't have crossed the finish line. Our lives in the age of coronavirus are not normal, and they may never be again. Fifty is the new 30? Abnormality is the new normal. I do not expect to jump back into action when we reach the 15-day mark. Distancing socially for 15 days means we don't have it or catch it during those 15 days. It's not as if the 15 days gives us the immunity to jump right back into the world. Social distancing protects us while we are doing it, but once we stop, all bets are off.
What a year this week has been. And next week's year may be no different.
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