Tales of the Coronapocalypse (day 2)

Bing coronavirus map
Clearly, I’m marking the day count by how long I’ve been cooped up. Typical American.

The weirdest thing to me — that thing that you don’t notice how different it is, until something tips you off, and then you do, and then you can’t stop noticing it — is the sound. It’s not necessarily quieter, but it is — less traffic, more bird noises (granted, it’s the beginning of spring, but still)…

And then suddenly today, it hits me — there’s less air traffic. Duh. But you don’t realize how inured you’ve become to The Way Things Are until suddenly they aren’t.

I’m less concerned with the fears of what might happen than I am with not knowing. I don’t know if that makes any sense. Over the weekend, as Alabama went from zero cases to Hold My Beer, motherfuckers, i found myself getting hit with heavy doses of anxiety — not something I’m typically experienced with, on any noticeable level, at least. But as I processed worst case scenarios, and best case scenarios, and finally found myself settling back into the area of real-world probability — not that that’s something I’m super okay with, mind you — I found myself breathing just a little easier.

We’ve survived wars, terror attacks, pandemics that were far more deadly, and our own worst, and we’ll survive again and again. And eventually even the new normal becomes — well, if not pleasant and acceptable, then at least commonplace.

I miss the drive into work (not the drive home, yet), the lake behind the building, not second-guessing public exposure, and casually going to the grocery store to get whatever I’m craving in the moment. I’m enjoying the change in aural scenery, not having to deal with afternoon traffic, and Outlander.


You’re a guest of the MacKenzie. We can insult ye. But god help any other man who does.

– Murtagh Fitzgibbons
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