Worrybirds,
Sorry, my biweekly email is late. I’m swamped by messages from local businesses about COVID-19.
I’ve received updates about the pandemic from my allergist, bank, credit card, health insurance, doctor, podcast hosting companies, satellite radio, hotels, gardens, improv theatres, a vinyl record place, car insurance, parking services, and discount tire. Some of it is useful, but most of it is opportunistic.
What’s the most bizarre email you’ve received?
For any new subscribers, my name’s Jed and I created the Get Afraid Journal. If you want to get in touch, hit reply.
🦠 I don’t know how to make sense of this reality.
Stores are picked bare. There’s no toilet paper, cleaning products, or hand-sanitizer. An entire section of yellow onions just gone. Wiped out.
Where were you when the onions disappeared?
Months ago our dog developed a red eye that began to leak green goop. We took her to the vet and they prescribed drops for dry eye. I chased our little dog around with a bottle of medicine. I’d get the bottle just close enough, but then she’d jerk her head. I tried distracting her with snacks. Anything to get her to look up. It worked sometimes.
Eventually, the infection cleared.
I kept a close eye on our dog as the news of a novel coronavirus crept closer. People made jokes, but the first infections still arrived in our state.
Our dog’s eye grew pink again.
A cluster of people got sick in Washington.
The eye was looking cloudy. Dull. I tried wishing it away.
The virus started killing more people.
The eye started oozing again.
Politicians appeared on the news. A pandemic was declared. Schools closed. Officials encouraged everyone to stay inside if possible.
I called the vet to get more eyedrops. I had to make a trip to the store to pick it up. While I was there, the pharmacist told me to sign for the medication. I looked at the dumb plastic pen. No wipes, no gloves, no sanitizer. I picked it up with a grimace and signed illegibly.
What’s a reasonable level of risk to get medication for your dog? What if I get sick and infect someone? What if I have an underlying health condition that I didn’t know about? What if the person I infected gets someone else sick? The virus spreads. Before long, Anderson Cooper announces the source of the worst coronavirus cluster was the owner of a geriatric pug.
I went to the grocery store for food earlier this week. Which is better? Self-checkout that gets touched by hundreds or a close interaction with one cashier and a conveyor belt?
While the cashier swiped items I watched in horror as the person bagging my groceries licked their fingers to peel open bags.
When I got home, I dunked my frozen vegetable bags in dish soap. That’s when I learned steamable bags have holes in them. I could’ve gone back to the store to complain, but then I’d have to go back into the store. I chucked the soapy steamfresh bags. I’ll stick with self-checkout.
My thoughts race.
Social distancing. Cough into your elbow. Viruses possibly lingering in the air. What about hallways? How do I avoid it? Don’t shake hands. Bump elbows. Shelter in place. Stay six feet apart. Don’t obsess over the news. Be informed. Keep your routine. Go for walks alone. Wear a mask if you’re immunocompromised. Work remotely. Don’t wear a mask if you’re asymptomatic. Save PPE gear for healthcare workers. Don’t get tested unless you have symptoms. Wealthy people get results back in a day. Regular people wait in a drive-thru. Teenagers film themselves getting nose swabs for clout. Infections without symptoms. Can it survive on surfaces? What about mail? Wipe your door handles with disinfectant wipes. Wear a glove. Spray hydrogen peroxide. Make your own hand-sanitizer. Take your clothes off when you get inside. Wash your sheets. Don’t use towels. Use paper towels. Tele-health. Get some rest. Watch Contagion. Take up yoga. Listen to a podcast about what it’s like to self-quarantine, but you’re self-quarantined so you already know what it’s like. Find your inner artist. Draw more. Try desperately to find a new source of income. Take up new hobbies. Spring clean. Take care of the kids. Entertain the family. Cook a new recipe. Draw a bath. Pursue a job on the front lines. Try knitting. Don’t get stir-crazy. Don’t complain about boredom. Listen to music. Post on social media. Play video games. Delete Facebook. Keep going to work if your business is essential. As if gas station attendants didn’t already have dangerous jobs.
It’s overwhelming. Of course it is. It’s a global pandemic.
I started chasing our pug around again during the panic. Trying my damnedest to give her eyedrops. I’ve started distracting her with bright aluminum cans. She looks up at the sparkly can, I place a drop in. With time her infection is looking less angry and red.
At least our current crisis isn’t like other existential threats. I can’t do a lot personally to stop nuclear war, drone attacks, or alien invasions. It’s not like I can prevent a supervolcanic eruption with Lysol wipes.
But I can wash my hands, clean surfaces, and self-quarantine. I can also choose how to spend my valuable free time and try to make it more rewarding. I can dive deep into distractions.
And while I’m in quarantine, staring at those bright aluminum cans, hopefully, the number of victims is reduced.
At least it’s something to try.
— Jed
🗓️ “THE ONLY CORONA ACTIVITY CALENDAR THAT MATTERS™”
Ryan Bradford of AwkwardSD put together a few things to pass the time.
“I’ll Venmo $3 to the person who creates the funniest photoshop with this very sexy burrowing owl.”
Watch George Romero’s The Crazies. “If you’re looking for something to cheer you up during this time of crisis, The Crazies isn’t going to do it.”
Read some Edgar Allen Poe.
What a frightening time to be alive. If you’re feeling stressed, here’s some sensible advice.
See you fearly soon. 🙄
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