Tina's TEOTWAWKI Journal, Day 365

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.

Five letters, one hyphen, two numbers

Five letters.

One hyphen.

Two numbers.

Nothing else had a greater impact on our lives last year than those eight written symbols.  (And boy, am I glad to write those words, "last year".)

It was a year ago since the initial reports of "a new virus in Wuhan, China" first started trickling in.  In February, I visited my doctor and commented about how no, I didn't need to worry about "that new thing in China" because I hadn't been out of the country.

Just a few days later, I read a headline saying that the CDC was warning us to be preparing for "significant disruptions", and I thought, "This sounds like fearmongering, but just in case, I better start stocking up on food."

I count March 13th as the day all hell broke loose.

March 13th was the first day that my son was home from school on a school holiday that would have been a make up snow day.  He did not go back into a physical building until August. 

How to describe a visit to a local Kroger on that week?  People were not angry, or screaming, or shoving each other out of the way.  It was just a very busy buzz, people going up and down the aisles, grabbing the stuff they needed, standing in lines, not full of screaming anxiety but rather with jaws grimly set.  

I remember driving down the road that week in March, listening to the news, and thinking, "I will not panic.  I will not panic." I fall into the category of "prepper", and while I do not have an underground bunker against the unlikely possibility of thermonuclear war, I do believe in keeping a full pantry and a decent amount in savings. So when rumblings of a pandemic hit, my purchases were more in the category of comfort food (think Fritos, Lays, and M & M's) than in necessities. I did make a bread run and was nicely told at the checkout counter, next time, the limit is two or four loaves. I also yelled, "Score!" to someone who was coming out of Aldi with a package of paper towels.  She laughed. 

I cannot complain about how "no one else had to deal with . . ." because no one on earth remained unaffected by these five letters, one hyphen, and two numbers.  In fact, I feel rather bubbled.  My husband was able to transfer to working at home.  I already work at home.  Our biggest challenge was switching office areas and getting adjusted to a new schedule.  Going along with that challenge was getting my husband set up to be able to work at home!  

My poor son had a hard time adjusting.  Since he has autism, he has a difficult time with changes in routine.  And his poor mother had a meltdown when she couldn't get the scanner on her computer properly. 

But since then, we, along with the majority of the world, have learned how to work Zoom or whatever your communications platform is. ("You're on mute" is the sentence of 2020.)

We learned to work with online church and a chat room (which my son was the first to enter on Sundays.) And I learned how to make communion bread.  

For weeks, I mentally sang "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" while washing my hands.  When I got bored with that, I switched to "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat". 

And, like so many in the world, I watched and listened in alternating pride, disbelief, horror, shock, anger, surprise, and other words in the gamut of emotions as the year unfolded.

The term "essential worker" is now a permanent addition to our vocabulary. So is "social distancing". 

Who can forget the pictures of doctors and nurses slumped over in exhaustion, their faces bruised from the hours of wearing a medical-grade mask? 

And while sitting at my home office desk in Atlanta, I watched as simmering fury over the death of George Floyd while in police custody boiled over into rioting. In the days that followed, we heard and saw protest, grief, lament, and expressions of exhaustion.  (I know people who participated non-violently in local area protests.  I was very proud of them.)

And as I write this, our President still refuses to accept that he was voted out of office by the American people. While the simmering political anger has not yet exploded into major rioting and major violence, I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Today is the first day of a new year, and like I said earlier, I was never so glad to say "last year" than I was when the ball dropped at Times Square and the socially distanced crowd counted down to "Happy New Year!" I nearly cried. 

I have no illusions that just flipping the calendar over, or putting a new calendar on the wall, is going to magically change anything.  I also have no illusions that a transfer of power on January 20th will magically pull our country out of our pessimistic funk. The best I hope for is a morale boost.  New starts, or at least perceived new starts, are helpful.

Today is a new start, a clean slate of sorts. 

But here is one of the biggest lessons I have learned from this pandemic.

Five letters.

One hyphen.

Two numbers.

COVID-19.

Those eight written symbols brought the entire world to its knees in 2020.  

I think we should all be humbled by that fact.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.