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.

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.

Bad Roommate Dream

My lower back is a bit achy, which might explain why I dreamed that I was a witch who put a curse on an enemy, giving them an achy back.

I had a dream in which I had two roommates. One of them was this rather conventional blond woman. She and I were in the laundry room, I think, and she owned the house we lived in. She was bustling around and having a monologue…. during which she said, “You’re a lazy roommate, but at least you can afford to pay the rent.” I froze in shock. She kept talking. She also continued bustling about and soon left the room.

At some point, I had processed enough to be walking around the house and grumbling. “If I’m so lazy, how do you explain the fact that I’m writing the first draft of a 90,000-word novel in only one month?! Oh, yeah, that’s really lazy!”

Next I was out and about in an urban area on a gray day. I parked in an alley, I think. I needed time to process, and now I was furious at the judgmental roommate and knew I’d be moving out as soon as possible.

I found myself at what may have been a yoga studio—an event was going to start soon, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t staying for it. I was walking in the opposite direction from everyone else in an alley leading into the yoga studio. Someone skinny paused in walking to do a yoga pose right there on the spot in the middle of the alley. I wondered if I could still do that yoga pose and knew better than to try it in front of others. The accusation of laziness was fresh in my mind.

At some point, I was one of three women who were wandering in an alley kind of lost. I wasn’t sure where my car was and was trying to remember where I parked. I ended up, still in an alley, where there was a concrete-looking building with a lot of clutter, junk, and people standing in line. One of them was a woman I had been walking with in the alley. Even though she was in line and I was in the alley and intended to continue searching for my car, I was still talking with her and vented about my asshole roommate. I may have said something about how I was going to start packing up and searching for an apartment today.

I woke up in a foul mood and remembered an occasion when a bunch of toxic relatives had, as usual, broken into my house and sat around my living room and accused me of being lazy. I was shocked and speechless in reaction. This was a time when I was working a minimum of 40 hours a week at a thankless job… and when I wasn’t at that job, I was writing, sculpting, or meditating. How does that fit the description of “lazy”? I was writing, among other things, a 500-page novel about those same relatives who thought themselves entitled to break into my house and take their personality disorders out on me.

Edgy Dream

I kept having dreams reminiscent of Steven Universe.

 

Later I dreamed I was attending some sort of convention in what looked like it could be a mansion or house. There was a somewhat large, square room—maybe a half-timbered look—with a bunch of doors. Around the edges of the room were booths with vendors selling art, I think mostly Steampunk style. But while I was wandering around this room and feeling socially awkward, most people went through a door, talking and laughing and knowing what they were doing and where they were going.

I didn’t know where they were going… or I figured they were going on a lunch break, nearly everyone at the same time. I wasn’t invited and didn’t know anyone.

I resumed shopping, even though only one or two little booths (one folding table each). I hovered over a booth that didn’t have much, maybe some small, handmade books. I felt like someone at another booth was watching me suspiciously and assumed I was a thief and was going to steal something from that booth. I moved on to another.

I ended up with someone’s catalog, folded back to a particular page. I was trying to be cheerful and enthusiastic but instead felt judged, rejected, and out of place. While walking slowly around the room with this catalog, I realized it must look like I was stealing the catalog. I felt nervous.