The Elephant Is the Room
Let's be honest, right now COVID-19 is not the elephant in the room, it is the room. I think I'm pretty calm, perhaps even happy, and for brief moments, at peace. Yet, last Saturday, March 14, was the day everything changed, not just for me, but for everyone around me.
Each region of the nation has a slightly different date. Perhaps for you, that date hasn't come yet. But it will. And when it does, there will be no elephant in the room. The elephant will be the room.
This blog is not a precautionary tale. This blog is not a source for inspiration. It is certainly not a go-to place for facts and medical advice. I'm not even sure it will be read. To be honest, there's a part of me that wonders if it will even exist a month from now. I think I'm an optimist. I know I believe in God. I'm certain there's life after death. Yet, it is very conceivable to me right now that the world we know could come crashing down. In a month, Google, and along with it Blogger, could be no more. I don't think that will happen, but to me, right now, it is conceivable. Certainly, the world, or at least our perception of it, has changed forever.
No, this blog--or at least this one post--exists because I am supposed to be writing a book, a book I have been working on faithfully for eighteen months, and I just can't seem to move forward because of the Elephant that is the room.
Go ahead, COVID-19. You've got my attention. I'm yours.
I have to be. Despite my many flaws, I'm honest. There is a small, compact black pit of knowledge deep within my mind that knows I am scared shitless.
Not scared enough to hoard rooms full of toilet paper. Not scared enough to go out to bars or beaches and drink myself into oblivion. Not scared enough to write COVID-19 off as a hoax by power-seeking liberals.
However, scared enough that it takes real mental exertion to get through an episode of NCIS on Netflix. Scared enough that I can't work on a book that I've devoutly been getting up at 5:00 a.m. and have been writing for 18 months. Scared enough that I have to fight the impulse to call my boys every 15 minutes and tell them how much I love them, and that they need to hang on to all they hold dear tooth and nail. Scared enough that I want to run across the field to my 83-year-old mother's house, hug her tightly and tell her I'm sorry for not spending more time with her even though I know that would be completely irrational and could put her life in danger.
I won't do that of course. I'm still in control. I have a deep faith in God and a sure knowledge that this life is but a glimpse of glorious eternities that will roll out before us when we pass through the veil. So, I'm steady. Even slightly at peace.
Yet, if I have to really concentrate to just get through an episode of NCIS, clearly something has changed. Not just for me. But for all of us.
So, I'm writing through COVID-19. It's either that or waste hours on Facebook. I'm simply not capable of much more right now. I want to be. There is a glorious oak and maple field canyon right next to my house. Soon the creek will be running. There is my book to finish. And of course, there is Marci, not only the love of my life, but the pivot in my life between the joy I now feel, even in such unsure times, and the darkness I felt constantly before she came along.
I'm writing through COVID-19 to get back to where I belong if that is possible. If you have nothing better to do, you are welcome to come along, although I know from this shared experience, it will probably be difficult to concentrate. That's okay. Reading this not anymore important than watching NCIS. Just something to do until that possible day when we no longer are squashed below the big, gray butt of COVID-19, each one of us gasping for the air we once knew so well.
Each region of the nation has a slightly different date. Perhaps for you, that date hasn't come yet. But it will. And when it does, there will be no elephant in the room. The elephant will be the room.
This blog is not a precautionary tale. This blog is not a source for inspiration. It is certainly not a go-to place for facts and medical advice. I'm not even sure it will be read. To be honest, there's a part of me that wonders if it will even exist a month from now. I think I'm an optimist. I know I believe in God. I'm certain there's life after death. Yet, it is very conceivable to me right now that the world we know could come crashing down. In a month, Google, and along with it Blogger, could be no more. I don't think that will happen, but to me, right now, it is conceivable. Certainly, the world, or at least our perception of it, has changed forever.
No, this blog--or at least this one post--exists because I am supposed to be writing a book, a book I have been working on faithfully for eighteen months, and I just can't seem to move forward because of the Elephant that is the room.
Go ahead, COVID-19. You've got my attention. I'm yours.
I have to be. Despite my many flaws, I'm honest. There is a small, compact black pit of knowledge deep within my mind that knows I am scared shitless.
Not scared enough to hoard rooms full of toilet paper. Not scared enough to go out to bars or beaches and drink myself into oblivion. Not scared enough to write COVID-19 off as a hoax by power-seeking liberals.
However, scared enough that it takes real mental exertion to get through an episode of NCIS on Netflix. Scared enough that I can't work on a book that I've devoutly been getting up at 5:00 a.m. and have been writing for 18 months. Scared enough that I have to fight the impulse to call my boys every 15 minutes and tell them how much I love them, and that they need to hang on to all they hold dear tooth and nail. Scared enough that I want to run across the field to my 83-year-old mother's house, hug her tightly and tell her I'm sorry for not spending more time with her even though I know that would be completely irrational and could put her life in danger.
I won't do that of course. I'm still in control. I have a deep faith in God and a sure knowledge that this life is but a glimpse of glorious eternities that will roll out before us when we pass through the veil. So, I'm steady. Even slightly at peace.
Yet, if I have to really concentrate to just get through an episode of NCIS, clearly something has changed. Not just for me. But for all of us.
So, I'm writing through COVID-19. It's either that or waste hours on Facebook. I'm simply not capable of much more right now. I want to be. There is a glorious oak and maple field canyon right next to my house. Soon the creek will be running. There is my book to finish. And of course, there is Marci, not only the love of my life, but the pivot in my life between the joy I now feel, even in such unsure times, and the darkness I felt constantly before she came along.
I'm writing through COVID-19 to get back to where I belong if that is possible. If you have nothing better to do, you are welcome to come along, although I know from this shared experience, it will probably be difficult to concentrate. That's okay. Reading this not anymore important than watching NCIS. Just something to do until that possible day when we no longer are squashed below the big, gray butt of COVID-19, each one of us gasping for the air we once knew so well.
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