The Numbers and The Quandry

Friday, March 20, 2020

Dead: 11,400

The numbers are all wrong. They are only counting the dead who tested positive. But they aren’t testing everyone. And people are dead in their homes while the skies suck up the smog. People are quarantining themselves at home because they’re not quite sick enough to die and it’s too expensive to go to the hospital anyway. It’s so much cheaper to die. There’s no tests to confirm anything anyway. There might not be a ventilator when you get there, either. They say the infected could be ten times what they are reporting. And the trees quietly pump out the oxygen, doing their part to fix things.

We’re all trying to figure out if we’re grateful for this change, and how we can all be so uneasy and happy at the same time. The Quandary of The Grateful.

My husband wakes up with a smile on his face and we belly laugh about random things before we even get out of bed. As each day wears on, the heaviness of the world wraps itself around us in an unwelcome shawl, and we wonder how we woke up in such a good mood.

But his work load was cut and he’s going to work from home and scheduling projects that he actually wants to work on. He’s not exhausted in the evening, and we’re connecting in a way that’s been hard to find during the regular grind of work days. And we’re grateful.

Mom calls to ask if she can go to a friend’s house and I say absolutely not, and she says ok. Aidan says I’m too strict with her and I say what if her friend went to the senior center and went bowling and touched a bunch of shit and then went home? I can’t risk it. She’s too important. He sighs and says I’m right, so I mark that on the calendar.

People are selling their wedding rings on Facebook Marketplace for mega-cheap since the pawn shops are closed and people are getting desperate. But Aidan says I can’t meet a random person in a parking lot to buy something that has been on their hands. What if I wear a mask and gloves and they put it in a ziplock bag? I ask. He says absolutely not, and I say ok.

Even if it’s a good investment. Even if they’re pretty. Even if…

The animals can’t figure out why we’re home all the time, and most of them are loving the apocalypse. They follow us all over the house, smiling and wanting to play. So we play tug-o-war while the mortuaries are overflowing in Italy. And we play ball while their crematoriums can’t handle the volume of dead. And we play and play and play while Italy’s military hauls off coffins to deal with the dead later. Someday.

Californians have a stay-at-home order from the governor. But people are still going to Walmart. Florida finally closed their beaches, but only after Spring Break was over and the hordes of people already infected each other. And the kids in their early 20’s don’t seem to think covid is a problem. But I had to add covid as a valid and existing word to my dictionary so it stops highlighting the word with a little red squiggly line underneath. Because it is so, so real.

I work on my paint-by-number painting and it’s really hard but it keeps me present. And I work on it until my arm falls off, and then I use the massage gun to work out the kinks. I put my arm back on and keep going. For hours and hours.

It’s a lovely day outside but I stay inside.

Things are getting better and so much worse. My stomach is upset and sometimes I have to take an anti-vomiting pill but then all the upset-ness stays in my belly, so maybe I should just puke and get it over with.

But I’m still so grateful… and I feel so bad about it.