Pandemic Errands

A few days ago, the U. S. reached a record 60,000 coronavirus cases in only one day. 70,000 last Friday.

Now that the pandemic is on the rise in this shithole country—run by sociopaths and narcissists—I’m thinking that this week, the only time I’m leaving my property (unless my right foot gets back to normal and I take walks in my neighborhood) is when I go to the acupuncture clinic on Thursday.

I just had two weeks in a row during which I wasn’t such a hermit anymore, thanks to errands and appointments. Two weeks back, I did a bunch of errands and had a hair appointment and my first acupuncture appointment in a while (at Mary’s private practice). Not even sure what the errands were that week, but it probably included going to The Healthy Pet and then going to the Friendly Street Market because it’s two doors down. I didn’t even take my mask off, it was such a short drive.

The errands last week included going to Lenscrafters to get a nose pad replaced on my glasses. While I left the mall parking lot, I spotted World Market, so I went over there and did some impulse shopping—for once refraining from buying any colorful/sparkly Indian things, because I thought of what my house is like—it’s full of that stuff, especially strings of cloth elephants. I bought a bunch of nonperishable groceries, especially Tasty Bite and very dark chocolate.

I went to my herb appointment last Wednesday. Peter now has an outdoor clinic set up on his patio, with Tibetan prayer flags and at least one tent cover serving as a curtain, and an acupuncture bed in the center of the patio. We both wore masks for the first time; last time we met outdoors but without masks, and both times we sat at a little patio table. It works.

Last… or was it the week before? Yes, I’ve been to two appointments at Acupuncture for the People, and because they have limited hours and staff, I’m only going once a week for now rather than the old twice a week.

They’ve arranged things so that not only is the clinic practicing social distancing, it’s also set up in such a way that it’s ready for future pandemics, too. The receptionist station is surrounded by clear plastic sheeting, and in order to pay you put your check or cash into a little plastic bin that the receptionist holds out at the opening of two curtains, at the corner of the desk. The big room with the recliners has at most half as many recliners as it did in the past, and they’re spaced wide apart, at least six feet. The door to that room no longer has a handle that requires grasping with a hand; instead, it has a metal loop that you can touch with your elbow, and from inside the room you just push the door open.

The front door is open, and there’s a chair out on the sidewalk. Around the chair is purple tape forming a rectangle, indicating that you remain inside that box when you first arrive for your appointment.

The first time I arrived, I went inside and eyed a clipboard and put on some hand sanitizer and started reading a poster about the pandemic, while the receptionist was on the phone. She took a break from the phone to ask me to go outside and sit in the chair. I felt embarrassed and confused and went back outdoors. She came back out a bit later, apologized for the confusion, and handed me a clip board.

On the clip board was a form that was a bit disturbing: you’re basically saying you’re aware that you could get coronavirus when you come here, and they’re not responsible. They don’t want to be sued. Before my hair appointment, I filled out a very similar form online, and it was similarly alarming—making me seriously wonder if having this appointment was a good idea, never mind that I postponed it to a month after the salon reopened. I reminded myself that my hair stylist needs income, and I filled out the form. Both the salon and the acupuncture clinic are careful, wearing masks and gloves.

I filled out the forms, and the acupuncturist came out and asked me if I’m showing any symptoms of coronavirus. I said, “Well, I have allergies, and I cough at least once a day.” He understood—that’s not coronavirus. He also asked if I’ve traveled from Eugene or been in a large gathering in the past twenty-one days. I frowned and said, “I was at the big Black Lives Matter march, but that was… about thirty days ago.”

Maybe at my second acupuncture appointment, in hindsight, I should have mentioned shopping at Trader Joe’s the day before. But everyone wore masks and used hand sanitizers on their carts. I tried to keep a distance from people, but there were quite a lot of customers, as though the pandemic wasn’t happening. I wonder if they’ve stopped limiting the number of customers.

The first time I meant to shop at Trader Joe’s, I went into their parking lot and saw a long line of masked people and decided I didn’t feel like doing it and went to Market of Choice, as I had been, because it’s huge and therefore easier for social distancing. Unfortunately, I’ve heard that Market of Choice isn’t friendly toward BLM masks—I think they refuse to let employees wear them—so that’s a good reason to avoid that place. Anyway, the second time I went to the Trader Joe’s parking lot, they were closing at only 7 pm… so I went across the street to Natural Grocers, and they looked like they were already closed, too.

This month, I’m doing a cleanse, which involves drinking two protein shakes a day instead of solid breakfast and lunch. So… those chocolates are in the freezer. Dinner is the only normal meal this month, and I’m getting flax milk and hazelnut milk online (unfortunately, via Amazon.com), so I don’t need to go to a supermarket or grocery store any time soon. When I run out of certain fresh produce, such as kale or broccoli, I might want to check out the farmer’s market—with a mask on, of course.

 

Since this is Oregon, masks in public have been required since last week, fortunately. As of today, the governor has declared that masks are required even for outdoor gatherings of ten or more people, since the coronavirus is on the rise.

 

I’m not sure that I’ve processed the fact that the pandemic is on the rise—in this country, maybe not any other country. I need to face up to this fact and take it seriously. What is this urge to act as though the virus isn’t on the rise? What is this urge to go out and do a bunch of errands, like I’ve been doing the past couple weeks? It’s like I’m being a typical American, impatient for the pandemic to end. But no, it’s not going to end or slow down just because people are impatient and have been cooped up for months. The virus won’t slow down until it’s damn good and ready.

But maybe I’m starting to process it today, because I’ve stopped and repeated it: “The coronavirus is on the rise in the U. S.” I stopped and thought about it enough to decide that the only time I’m going out this week is for my acupuncture clinic; this is Monday, and that is Thursday.

Coronavirus Journal

A successful author—I don’t remember who because I suck at names and haven’t read her work—but a successful author, maybe from South America, stated that writers need to write about this pandemic. My reaction was: that makes perfect sense. But how on earth am I going to write about this pandemic?

Fiction that I especially enjoy writing is fantasy fiction, historical fantasy fiction, historical fiction, dark fantasy. Fiction that I end up writing with rather less enjoyment is autobiographical or semi-autobiographical fiction. Writing about this particular pandemic… how could I do that?

I decided the only way I knew to write about it, at least for the time being, would be to write a journal. Write about my afflictive emotions and confused thoughts and trying to process and not really processing properly.

Upon a little more thought, it occurred to me that I could set fiction during this pandemic… but show it in a low-key way. Whenever the protagonist goes outside, everyone is wearing a mask. People are keeping their distance, yellow Caution tape is all around playgrounds, people only go to restaurants to pick up orders, or they wait at home for the restaurant food to be delivered. The protagonist, at the beginning of the story, hasn’t left her house in a month. I have no idea how to incorporate plot into something like that, but it could always be “literary” fiction that I submit to literary journals.

And another possibility, especially since I plan to write fiction about suffragist witches, is to include the 1918 flu pandemic in historical fiction about suffragists.

During the 1918 flu pandemic, people generally didn’t do that. There just aren’t many books about it, aside from historians and writers of historical fiction who nowadays write about it as a historic event. But people who lived through it… didn’t process it, apparently. They were traumatized and glad it was over and just wanted to shove it away, push it out of their thoughts once it was over. They didn’t warn younger generations. They didn’t confide in younger generations. So there’s this whole generation that blocked out a major world event that came toward the end of the first world war, which was also a traumatic world events. Two traumatic world events coming together.

But I rather think writing about it will help process. I mean writing about this pandemic, that is.

The pandemic reached the U. S. in late February 2020. At least, according to the news, the pandemic first appeared in Washington state (only one state away!) on February 28. But it could have been in the U. S., for instance in New York City, a little before that. Maybe a month before. After all, it sometimes needs time for symptoms to appear, and sometimes people are asymptomatic—like Typhoid Mary.

It would suck to be Typhoid Mary.

The last time I went to see a play—and I know I’m coming from a place of economic privilege when I put it like this, but—the last time I attended a live play (as opposed to watching a Shakespearean play on YouTube) was a Saturday in the middle of March, a couple days before social distancing became official per Governor Kate Brown’s orders in Oregon. The play was A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen, and it was beautiful (especially the costumes!) and made me realize that I’d forgotten quite a bit of it from reading it in college in the early 1990s.

Ah, the 1990s. It was before 9/11. It was before fascist Repugnantcans started proving they don’t need to win the popular vote in order to move into the White House. They just have to rely on cheaters and voter suppression. The late twentieth century seems like such an innocent time compared to this. Back then I wasn’t even disillusioned with relatives who have personality disorders.

So… I created a new document and started writing. I cut and pasted all the journal entries I’ve written since social distancing started in Oregon, and those are all in the  new document. At the moment, that’s thirty-five pages.

 

Coronavirus Dream

I had a coronavirus dream set in Regency England.

A ball was taking place inside an enormous ballroom with an extremely high ceiling and white and gold paneling. Quite a number of people were there but had plenty of space—they were probably the first arrivals. At least 20 people. They wore elegant and very Regency (circa 1814) garb.

A zombie-like man entered the room and said he had coronavirus. Everyone yelled and screamed and ran away, going out of the ballroom.

Pandemic Shopping

For the first time, I left my hermitage for social distancing grocery & cat food shopping, and it was a tense atmosphere. It felt dystopian and weird, most people wearing gloves and/or masks and whatnot. I wore gloves, too.

I hadn’t been around people for about two weeks—that entire time, I hadn’t had close enough proximity to people to be aware of their energy or moods. As an empath, I’m an emotional sponge.

I got as far as the produce department before tears started to well up. I clasped the black tourmaline pendant and focused on refraining from crying… because I don’t want anyone to see me cry. Embarrassing.

But that wasn’t only my emotions—it was the distress and anxiety of the masked and gloved people around me, customers and staff, in the large supermarket.

I resolved to focus on groceries and remember what I came for. That worked. I acted stand-offish, didn’t smile, didn’t make eye contact. Nobody else was what I’d call friendly, except for two people chatting in an aisle.

The buffet tables were empty, as were glass-doored shelving units that customarily contain self-serve items such as individual pastries.

The coffee bar (Market of Choice) is still open, so I ordered a smoothie. The fireplace was turned on (gas or electric), but the seating is all gone. I saw notices forbidding anyone from eating or drinking inside.

If you bring your own shopping bags, you must fill them yourself. When a cashier told me this behind a tall sheet of plexiglass, I said, “That’s fine. It’s my first time our of my hermitage.”

The bagger—who wore a riot-gear helmet, or whatever you call a helmet that has a clear plastic face shield–went to a different cash register, while I packed my reusable bags.

After putting my groceries in the car, I went to the pet store a couple doors down. It was open, to my relief, and not only for phone orders. I entered and walked straight to where they keep the wet food my cats like, and I took an armload to the front counter. The shop owner wore a mask and after greeting me said, “I’m smiling. You just can’t see it.” I chuckled ruefully.

It was a relief to get in the car and sit exhaling and drinking smoothie. Even a greater relief was getting home.

The first thing I’d put in my cart was a rainbow unicorn succulent. I have a rainbow unicorn succulent, kale, and burritos and am back home—much better.

I also have wine and CBD chocolate. I figure that if I alternate eating and fasting, I could go for maybe four months without grocery shopping. For now, I have a bunch of fresh produce, so the fasting can wait.

I’m in no hurry to venture out again.

Pandemic Shut-in Diary Entry

It turns out that if I’m wearing pockets while using the exercise bike… and put my phone in a pocket… the pedometer on my phone registers my exercise as walking (at least, if I’m doing it vigorously). Best to do it while reading nonfiction or streaming online, not while reading or writing fiction. So much for my multitasking skills.

I woke before 4 am and couldn’t get back to sleep for a while. I think I fell asleep shortly before my alarm went off at 7 am (trash & recycling). Oddly, I was so fatigued today that I slept all afternoon. With contented cats.

Last Night’s Dreams

I dreamed I was in a large Asian imports and antiques store. I was mesmerized by a group of porcelain antiques: four little figurines, a few inches long (at least two were reclining) on a structure that looked like a branch or stylized log. The little people–I guess Chinese children–were painted in lovely colors, and the branch was beige. They were all from about the turn of the century. Each figurine was labeled $97.99, and the branch was labeled $16.99 (from a sticker gun).

I looked at some other, tinier items—little Greek goddess heads and the like—but what I described about was fixed in my head… and I decided to buy them.

When I was checking out, I was shocked to be charged $699. Then I suddenly had a friend with me who noticed they overcharged me and looked over the handwritten list of items and complained. I would have just walked off overpaying.

 

I recall repeatedly dreaming about the word “coronavirus” in New Times Roman 24 point, with a capital “C.”