Dispatches from the Coronavirus Days #11

I have now been under self-quarantine since March 15th and work-from-home status since March 17th. I have left the house a few times; early on, before we really understood the enormity of the Covid-19 outbreak, I ventured inside a store or two, disgusted by the lack of seriousness with which people were greeting this pandemic. It has been weeks since I stepped inside a structure now, my few jaunts only occuring whenever presciptions were needed and, only then, at the drive-up window.

I'm not sick. I could be asymptomatic but how would I know? My wife was sick before the "stay home, stay safe" order from Governor Whitmer, making things even more uncertain in my household. We don't think she had Covid-19 but since the hospitals aren' t seeing people for anything that isn't life-threatening, it's impossible to know for sure.

What can I tell you about my state-of-mind? I suppose it could be worse. As the popualr article and memes will tell you, we Gen-X'ers are easily the most predisposed to having to keep our asses at home for extended periods of time. It's how most of us spent our childhoods, especially the teen years. Honestly, this for me just feels like a weekday in summer that somehow got extended. The difference is, though, I could leave the house back then. I could hop on my bike and go to the store and actually walk inside and touch things and buy them and bring them home and...well, you get the idea. The only way I can do that stuff now is armed with a cannister of Lysol disinfectant wipes, a mask, rubber gloves and a full body condom!

"This, too, shall pass," right? I mean, if it's in the Bible...Okay, I can't in good conscience finish that sentence but enjoy whatever is your takeaway.

I try to tell myself the above sentiment, but then I look across the street at all the people who are still crowding into the grocery stores. I need to eat, too. My wife and I have been waiting over a week for our delivery service; we finally opted to do a pickup, thereby increasing the risk factor. But I'm not entering the building because I'm not a moron. I know this because my mom told me so.

I suppose my fear is that as time passes, the act of being outside of the house will become foreign and undesirable to me. The other day while cleaning, I took trash out to the receptacles in the backyard, where the sun shone down on me rather intensely. I stood in place and let the rays hit me for several minutes, blinded, deciding this must be how plants feel when they're bombarded with life-giving solar rays. Then I went back inside.

(In case you're wondering, the image above is a meme that's going around as a response to President Trump's dismissive comments regarding the Governor of Michigan.)