I’m mad. I spend most of my days being mad. Mad that no one else seems to care. No one else is playing by the rules. Everyone else is acting like this isn’t a thing. That 400,000 people haven’t died. Maybe we don’t know any of them, but that makes us privileged. Privileged by race, socio-economics, our jobs, our health insurance, the list goes on.
I keep getting told that I can’t live my life afraid. Afraid of dying. Afraid of getting sick. Afraid of everything. I am so sick of being patronized with this “advice.” I am not afraid. I am caring. I care about others. I care about myself. I care about my family. I care about being around for my family. I am a fairly healthy adult, but I did get the flu one year that took me out for 2 weeks and led to pneumonia. My husband got tonsillitis last year and ended up in Cleveland Clinic ICU. And he’s way healthier than me. I’m just thinking you never know what strain you are going to be dealt, so I am not taking my chances.
So I stay home. My kids stay home. We haven’t eaten in a restaurant in almost a year. I don’t run races or train with my running group. My husband doesn’t go to the gym. 99% of my kids’ activities are via Zoom. Boy Scouts, viola, guitar, trombone. Robotics was an online tournament this year. I haven’t hugged my parents in a year. They haven’t hugged my kids in a year. We celebrated my nephew’s birthday in their doorway, masked for a quick present open.
Christmas was all Zoom. My family is small so we met in my sister’s freezing garage, masked and socially distanced by family and opened presents. No food, no hugs, just a quick sad celebration and them home. My husband’s families are bigger, so those are all Zoom, which I hate. You know what’s worse than social gatherings for socially anxious introverts? Zoom calls. Where you have to yell to be heard (not happening). Where your face blows up for all to see when you do talk, and when you do, you can only look at how terrible you look in the camera. So I stay largely silent, which makes me look like a super bitch.
My family and I have contracted into ourselves this past year. Some in our circle can’t understand why we don’t just loosen up. Why we are so strict. Why just one hug is a no-go for us.
I am so mad that this became political. Remember 9/11? We all got together and were one for a while. American flag on every porch. Remember WWII? Rationing of everything. Working together? We can’t even agree to put a fucking piece of cloth over our faces.
So, I am mad. Mad at the selfishness. Mad at the ignorance. Mad that I am the freaking COVID Karen when all I want is for someone, anyone to show a lick of common sense and the decency to just stay home.
I just might publish this rough, angry verbal diarrhea. It’s raw. Like I am right now. Maybe writing again will make me feel better.