Another Sunday, another laundry day. We don’t do it every week but last week was our linens loads, rather than main laundry. This week it’s five loads for two weeks of clothes plus masks. Since Charles goes to work at an external office four days a week, that’s a lot of masks, plus my own and the ones we have to wear when we are in the public areas of our apartment buildings. This morning I was musing about how we all believed the first lockdown was a temporary experience. I remember going to the grocery store because we were told to have enough supplies for two weeks. It felt so weird. And everyone panic bought toilet paper. Odd things were not available: flour, beans. People were hunkering down.
On the CBC News a few weeks ago, they showed an American woman in ICU. She was lying upright in her bed with a ventilator. She looked frail and tiny in the bed. A reporter asked her why she didn’t get vaccinated, and she answered, “I was afraid.” At that point I didn’t feel mad at her for not getting vaccinated, I felt so very sad. She was on her death bed. I hope with all my heart that she was made comfortable and I thought of the unbearable grief of her loved ones, if she had any. I wondered if she had anyone. If she died alone. This didn't have to happen.
If this is happening to you, please know you are not alone. I have no answers. I just wanted to say, I did manage to get up and even to venture outside on a particularly tough day. I wore my favourite little pink skirt and my new Gap Riot Press t-shirt, plus poetry socks from Post Ghost Press. I had my headphones on and listened to music. The light was beautiful. There were big puffy white clouds in the sky and puddles that reflected everything upside down. I took photos and I felt a little joy. This is a fucked up time. Figuring out ways to cope and get through it is so fucking hard.