NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY 80.
“I can go out. I can go in.
Out. In.
Out. In. In. Out.
Out. In.”
– Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H
I wrote the first edition of The Quarantine Chronicles 80 days ago today. With Monday’s announcement from my girl G.W. lifting the Stay at Home order for Michigander’s, I have decided that this will be the last post in the series.
Sure, the order doesn’t take effect for another week, and Dog knows we’re not done with Pandemic-A-Go-Go 2020, but I feel enough is enough on my end. This dead horse has been beaten and re-beaten.
[I tend to rant a bit here, you may want to skip ahead.]
I consider myself lucky that being not really quarantined had/has no REAL effect on my life. Wifey is working from home and getting paid, B was happy enough for the most part, but the lack of a school routine, soccer, friends, and the company of his lady-friends started to take a toll on him at times.
As for me, I went about my (lack of) business, as usual, masking up when needed, avoiding people as I normally do, and longing for days of shooting soccer and hanging out with the few folks that I’m lucky enough to have as friends. The lack of a routine has worn me down like a bloody marathon runner’s nipple, and I doubled down on some long time vices that will probably be harder to kick than if I actually had got/get the ‘Rona.
Life is by no means going to be business as usual just because G.W. said we don’t have to stay home anymore. Life will be different for many months or years to come. The past few months have divided America even more, and the oranged hued fuck face in the White House underlined how unfit he is to lead a country (or walk amongst us IMO) in that time.
I’m glad things are creeping back to semi-normality, but I stand by that society needed a break. You either took advantage of that time, or you didn’t. I wish I could say one way or another if I did. I’m pretty sure I didn’t, and have used the pandemic as a reason to wallow further in my own personal suck, anxieties, and depression. I did find myself writing more, which the value of his highly debatable, even amongst allies. I’m hopeful that I can keep up the throwing of verbal poo in the months to come, or at least until my web hosting expires.
In light of the recent murder of yet another black man at the hands of the police, and the protests and riots that have followed, maybe a “break” is not what society needs. Maybe burning it to the ground and starting over is what we actually need. And I say that knowing full well that my bloated carcass should be in the first wave of fleshy kindling thrown onto the broken societal bonfire.
With all those unneeded words written, I rode my bike on Monday. It was swell. Maybe the key to good legs is to only ride your bike once every ten days?
The 23-mile dirt and pavement route was largely unremarkable, until I hit a section of Jordan Road, and heard a large cry from the weeds to my right. It sounded like a lamb caught in a bear trap, and scared the shit out of me! I swore it was a human cry, but it turns out it was a small fawn. I stopped and looked back, and it let out a few more cries that sounded like a baby crying, “mamma!!” I have never heard a deer make noises like that in my life, and after a few more wails, it scurried as fast as its wobbly legs could take it across the field and into the trees. I have no idea why it was alone and felt horrible for it. I sure hope it survives, but if it’s out there on its own, I have no idea how it will.
A downward dog doing downward dog.
The week is young, I am old, and I have some contractors coming to stain the deck, and add some railing. I also have a pile of shit (not literally) on my desk that needs taken care of and errands to run. It would be nice to get out for some riding or hiking in the next couple of days, but if I don’t, I don’t. The world will, unfortunately, keep spinning and burning.
Later.