It’s March 26, 2020. If I remember the past 24 hours correctly, today’s the first official day of mandatory “sheltering in place” here in Colorado Springs. They announced it yesterday, but I think the orders went into place last night. Or, maybe this morning. Either way, it’s been almost two weeks since schools closed, so it feels longer. 

Everything feels longer. We were supposed to be flying home from Disneyland tomorrow. Who knows when they’ll re-open? 

Days blend together in ways previously unimagined.  

As somebody who does almost 100% of my work at home using video calls, chats, and email, sheltering in place shouldn’t feel much different from my average week. 

Except it does. 

For one, there are other people in my house during work hours. And they wonder what I’ll be having for lunch, in case it possibly, er, I dunno… coincides with what they might be thinking for lunch. They’re bored, and can’t play baseball in the yard alone, after all. 

Here’s the thing. This is not a hurricane, a tsunami, or a wildfire. We are each at home. We have water, electricity, and in most cases, WiFi and a bunch of shows to stream. Except, 10-year-olds can only stream so much, and their mamas who always work from home now work from home with a 10-year-old (and, every other day in our case, a husband). Which is decidedly not the same, friends. 

It’s not the same because a bunch of weird people decided that toilet paper was the thing to hoard, so every time we need to wipe our butts here, we wonder how long it’ll be until we’re using cut-up t-shirts and washing them like cloth diapers (totally an option). 

Or (God forbid), showering more often to clean our butts. An option, obviously. But one we’re not used-to used-to, you know? 

It’s okay to feel what you feel about all of this. Not to dismiss our Snowflake first-world problems, because anything new and weird is new and weird. Especially things like sheltering at home feeling more like surviving the zombie apocalypse your 10-year-old has been prepared for going on years now. It’s off-putting and anxiety-inducing. 

He’s making projects that litter my kitchen. Which is brilliant and wonderful, but none of them fill enough time in the day.

Zombie Apocalypse? Not Yet, But Pretend It’s Here.

Also? WE NEED TO STAY AT HOME, friends. Sure, you won’t be thrown in jail today for going to Target for latex gloves that your 10-year-old will fill as if they’re an alternate-reality water balloon. BUT, but but but, unlike people on Nextdoor saying “Let’s just get it over with and our immune systems will kick in,” there are many among us who will most definitely need ventilators in the hospital should they get coronavirus.

Fact: there are not enough ventilators for all of us. 

Do you want to be the one to choose which 24 people in your community get to continue breathing? If I get this virus, I want to live in spite of my age, health, or anything else.

Don’t you? The herd mentality is naive and harmful. Just saying. 

Still, I think it’s okay to admit to ping-ponging between telling yourself “Jeesh, come on! You have water, a home, electricity, and WiFi. Keep complaining, Snowflake, and think about the rest of the world wishing they had it this good” and then thinking “OMG we’re all GOING TO DIE and it’s going to get way worse and is going to last a long freaking time, and if my kid says ‘I’m bored’ again in the next eight minutes, it’s ok to put him in the back yard and lock the door the way our parents did in the 80’s.”

I guess I’m saying all the thoughts are okay right now. You do you, but do it by yourself. If not for you, for the more vulnerable. Can you imagine being in the hospital now, fighting something potentially life-threatening, and being told “Put this mask on and douse yourself in bleach because there’s a new virus in town that may kill you faster than your tumors?” 

Who knows how long this will last. Who knows if it’s like a flu that will mutate, and come back for us, year after year? Who knows, indeed. 

Zombie Apocalypse? Not Yet, But Pretend It’s Here.

I worry, a lot. My husband is somebody considered essential, although they’re having staff come in every other day to minimize people in the building at one time. It doesn’t feel like enough. But it’s something, I suppose. 

Then again, in a time where food delivery is allowed (and the grocery is out of almost everything), we go down rabbit holes. “Have the delivery person leave it on the porch, wipe the bag before opening it,” easily leads to realizing that somebody put your food in the innermost wrapper, somehow. And if they’re angry about being essential? Well, I’ll leave you to your own imagination about sneezing on your burrito, because mine goes to even darker places. You’re welcome. Because who knows? 

Who knows, indeed?

Stay isolated, people. And wash your hands. 

Here’s Mardra’s photo of “Who Knows?”

Love it.

***

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, with the below photo as a prompt with “Who knows?” brought to us by the fabulous Mardra Sikora, mother of the amazing Marcus, who is, most definitely, somebody we need to stay home for.