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Writer's picture Michael C. Hill

I am Tired.


OK, I get it!

This is temporary. Things are gonna get better. We’re all in this together. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. This is nothing like as bad as the Great Depression/WWII/Black Plague. We will all be smarter and stronger when this is over. If we all calm down there will be toilet paper again. The economy will recover and folks will be able to work again. There will be lemon-aid springs, pie in the sky and bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover.”

Damn it, I am tired.

I am fed up with good thoughts, professional opinions, political footballs, Corona statistics, Killer Hornets and dead/maybe dead Schrodinger’s evil dictators. I am sick of being isolated from other people. I am exhausted from an overload of “How to get through this” gurus who probably hide under the sheets and talk to the toaster when they are not on TV.

I have used every escape mechanism available: online consumerism, pathetic attempts at watercolor, pantry cleaning, walks with the dog, walks without the dog, sitting on the porch, writing memoires, writing short accounts of the quarantine, learning how to blog/podcast, and have watched every English mystery series produced from the dawn of television to yesterday.

I want someone else to pour me a bourbon and decorate it with a little umbrella. I want an unmasked server to ask if I want haricot verts or fries with my ribeye. I want to play golf with three guys who shake hands and can stand close enough together to tell an off-color joke. I want to go to church, a movie, a concert or even a boring meeting. I need a haircut and NO! Cheryl, put down those scissors.

Enough. That’s about all I’ve got for now. None of us wants to dive too deep into how this really feels.

I shall arise now and go to Harris-Teeter. I must glove up and mask up and carry the rapidly dwindling hand sanitizer. I must park a safe distance from other cars and avoid proximity to other humans while I push my sanitized grocery cart toward rows and rows of no meat or paper towels or lysol.

Just let me end with Good Luck, Good Hunting and Love One Another!

Mike


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