Reason #COVID-19: I'm not very good at pandemics.
As you can see, I've been away for a bit. Truth be told, because we always tell the truth and nothing but the truth in this space (that's a lie), I've been busy writing on a separate, very exciting project. Several actually.
But, I don't want this little hell-based, hot project to go cold, so I thought I'd better get back to providing you content. (Yes, you. Specifically, you. Whoever "you" are.)
But, for today only, I wanted to break format a bit and get some pandemic-related thoughts off my chest.
Mainly, I've learned I'm not very good at pandemics. It's not that MY life has changed very much. I still work in my pajamas. I still shave every 4th day, whether I need it or not. I still rotate between tacos and pizza for dinner every night.
It's just, this pandemic thing is all-consuming.
Every morning, I wake up with the coronavirus.
That is, every day, I think I have it. Slight cough? Damn. It finally got me. Sneeze? Better polish up the will. (Who gets my toy golf cart?) Feel just a touch warm? Grab the thermometer.
It almost makes one regret starting a blog entitled: 1,000 Reasons I'm Going To Hell. Who knew it could be so soon!?
And, staying home is sooo hard. It's what I always want to do, but now I HAVE to do it. Ugh. It's so difficult being me.
True, during WW2 Americans everywhere went to war willing to die saving the country. Millions more sacrificed in EVERY aspect of their life: rationing everything from meat to rubber (eating SPAM for God's sake), taking jobs on the factory lines, living with blackouts every night, and on and on and on.
Also true that basically every generation before me had a war to fight, and I've only watched one on CNN.
Every American generation has made incredible sacrifices to preserve the republic. And now, I've been asked to stay home and watch TV. And it hurts.
To say I've learned how soft I am would be an understatement. I'm a Charmin outerlayer protecting a marshmallow center surrounding a down core.
I don't put on a homemade mask to go to work treating patients with a deadly virus. I don't speed my way through neighborhoods, rushing to answer a 911 call that may well kill me. I don't even stock the shelves, risking exposure so that my neighbor gets his pizza sauce.
No, I write. Like I always do. I play Xbox. I eat nachos and sort my toilet paper stash. I count my canned goods and tend to the lawn. I exercise religiously once a week or two. I yell at the news, like normal. I play Pandemic: The Board Game ironically. I sometimes shower and almost never eat a dozen cookies in one setting.
And, through it all, I applaud my effort. My sacrifice.
I guess I was wrong. I DID stay on format. Because I'm definitely going to hell.