Free falling on ground hog day

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My hands tingle with the uncertainty of every day. Like the feeling you get when you dream that you are falling.

Four months into the lockdown. The defenses so far are: using space as barriers, putting shields and masks over our smiles and threats or direct violence to make people obey. 

I got flustered one weekend trip to the grocery because a man was paranoid that I was getting too close to him. My protest is muffled behind the face mask. I hold back my retort. I can imagine the nasty words if he did that to someone else. 

My youngest is starting college without the ceremony and final picture proof of the past six years in junior high.  My protest is muffled behind the face mask and the attempt to not give in to quarantine fatigue.

160 thousand positive cases, every other week declaration of whether we are allowed to go out and no concrete plan in sight for the future. My protest is muffled behind the face mask. I  attempt to not give in to quarantine fatigue.

My heart quivers with the sensation of being ungrounded, with nothing solid to grasp even as  I find myself in the same spot, doing the same thing every day. Groundhog day playing with space, blurring time, smudging memory. I  attempt to not give in to quarantine fatigue.

I feel the season change. The summer heat shifted to a pleasant cool. My sunsets are blocked by rain clouds. I guess the universe is telling us not to be too sad, Little Prince. I do not give in to quarantine fatigue.

The economic wheels need to turn as we gamble our safety for survival. 

We will come out of it new and not normal. 

I  will not give in to quarantine fatigue.

"I am an X in an indeterminate equation. And that X is the rock upon which I stand." - Mario Puzo

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