One year.
For me, the pandemic began on March 13, 2020, when my son had his first day out of school. We didn't know then that he wouldn't be going back until August and that he'd have to finish the school year online.
We didn't know that my husband wouldn't be going to the office for about two months, and that he'd end up taking over my office four days a week.
We didn't know that March 8th, 2020 would be the last time our church would meet together until November.
We didn't know that masks would become a fashion statement or that people would judge others by whether they did or did not wear one.
So many things we did not know.
I began journaling the pandemic here on March 13, 2020, thinking that I would write every day and bring a healthy dose of snark to everyone's pandemic coping skills. How wrong I was. I can't remember when I stopped writing a daily pandemic journal. Snark is a good way to cope, depending on the target of your snark . . . but you can only be snarky for so long.
My good intentions to spend more time on writing and house cleaning were eventually sabotaged by, well, just pandemic weariness.
It's been a long 365 days, and like just about everyone, I'm weary.
In the beginning, there was a pulling together, an attitude of, "We're all in this together." But that faded as we realized just how long and how serious this pandemic would be.
Now, Zoom meetings and online church are the norm, social distancing is expected, a "drive-by" refers to a type of celebration rather than a shooting, and when you extend a fist to someone, it is not an assault but a greeting.
Throw in the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor (who died one year ago today) and George Floyd -- along with others -- and a very contentious presidential election, and you have a recipe for both angst and exhaustion.
Right now, I lean more towards the exhaustion end of the spectrum.
One thing that helps is remembering that no one on earth is unaffected by COVID. If you haven't had it, you know someone who has; if you don't know anyone who has had COVID, you still have dealt with empty shelves, standing six feet apart in a public place, businesses closed, businesses requiring masks . . .
Monday, my husband and I become eligible for the COVID vaccine. It's the one time in my life I look forward to getting two shots.
Right now, I just confess to weariness.
TEOTWAWKI, for those wondering, is an acronym in prepper circles that means "The End Of The World As We Know It." (And you thought it was just a title of an R.E.M. song.)
To be honest, this past year?
It has been TEOTWAWKI.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
