It is undeniable that many people are suffering the powerful, rage of COVID-19. I am utterly wigged out with the amount of people dying. I am sorry for their loss. Of course, then the idea of how to care for the deceased in a way that is meaningful and proper, yet safe, is another issue.
With that being said, my little troubles seem so meaningless. I mean, really, how hard is it to not go anywhere? I have options. I can cover up with a mask and gloves and shop for food. I can get in my car and drive all over the place. Our local park is still open allowing me to walk the beautiful trails in the woods.
Besides going to the store, I’ve driven around aimlessly and walked in the park. But, and here is the rub, I don’t feel “SAFE.” For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a germ-a-phobe. I don’t drink out of someone else’s glass, ever (well, unless its family and I want to taste their wine or beer.) When I am sick I drink out of a straw then throw it away so nobody else accidentally uses my glass. I never hug anyone if I feel I have a cold. When my husband seems sick, I don’t go near him (but to give me credit, I don’t run to another room to sleep).
This new thing of sneezing into elbows is not new to me and I’ve always used my elbows or backside to open bathroom doors. If I have to use my hands, I use my pinky (whoever puts their pinky on their face?) and find the most out of the way place on the door that will allow it to open. I sing the alphabet song when I wash my hands.
However, NOW, I think germs are everywhere. They are on the wooden rails on the bridges to the trails. On the grocery bags that Dale brings home. They are flying through the air on windy days just waiting to find me and infiltrate my lungs. When Dale brings home the groceries, I want to run in the other direction in case he’s come in contact with some ONE or THING (because it can be both) that has COVID-19.
I know this is overkill, and when I walk Jazzy without a mask (and nobody else is around) I feel like I’ve just opened up a rail for COVID-19 to come chugging in.
My daughter is homeless for a short time after a decision to revamp her career and a cancelled attempt at a two month exploration of Europe (I’ll share her story when she’s finished writing it. It’s gonna be good). Because of my phobia’s, she had to find a place to stay elsewhere. Fortunately, a friend had a place in Boston that was empty.
My son just told me that someone tested positive at the place where he works (deemed essential). My daughter (in law) but my girl still, is going to be an ER doctor. Oh my, it's like going into battle with invisible aliens. Now I have all kinds of horror stories running around in my over-imaginative brain.
Give me strength, give me sanity. I don’t want to be COVID Crazy. I want to see my babies (babies still to me at least). So, when my girl decides she is finished with her story and wants to come home. I will swallow all my fears and let her.
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