Coronavirus chronicles: The blurry new normal
In the two weeks since I blogged last, nothing has stood out that inspired me to write.
That's not to say nothing has happened during the pandemic during this time. More things are opening up -- probably too soon -- and the politics are too stupid; I'm walking a fine line (and falling off it) on avoiding pandemic news that just gets me distracted and annoyed.
However, I haven't been driven to record any of these events. I may have hit a threshold on how much I want to think about all this, and it may just be the days and weeks are severely blending together, with little variety to each day. On Day 65, this has been going on for more than nine weeks, but the last month, one day ends, a new one begins, and nothing seems different. I'm hoping summer brings something unique to each day -- and I know I'm the one responsible for finding that unique.
I find myself missing the NBA playoffs here in May. I associated baseball with these months, but I'm realizing basketball represents a bigger part of my sports attention span this month.
Basketball practice resumed for Michael a couple weeks ago, and Ben can swim individual workouts tomorrow. I hope they are able to last, and maybe they will, but the rush to get out of quarantine portends another wave and maybe another lockdown. Utah flattened the curve a little, but flattened it at a high rate of cases, without much consistent reduction. Other parts of the country are spiking as the hardest-hit areas slowly recover.
Summer is uncertain, but I can't wait to get on the road for a vacation. I just don't when we'll be able to plan it.
The EZ seed we put down is growing in nicely. Today felt like summer for sure. Ben and I took the dog to the H Rock to look at the sunset, only to be thwarted again by a strip of clouds moving past Antelope Island to the west. But even he said that this felt like a summer evening.
Five weeks have passed since Easter, which is now on the front half of the pandemic. That's just too weird. The last 65 days have dragged and zipped by at the same time. I'm struggling to remember what the first couple weeks of all this felt like, but does it really feel like nine weeks have passed?
Ben and I got haircuts Friday. At least my hair is normal again. As the new week begins, headed into the long Memorial Day weekend, my goals are to distinguish each day in some way, write some more, and enjoy these last two weeks of May.
A new normal awaits. It will be replaced by another new normal and another and another. The key is looking for the joy of every day.
That's not to say nothing has happened during the pandemic during this time. More things are opening up -- probably too soon -- and the politics are too stupid; I'm walking a fine line (and falling off it) on avoiding pandemic news that just gets me distracted and annoyed.
However, I haven't been driven to record any of these events. I may have hit a threshold on how much I want to think about all this, and it may just be the days and weeks are severely blending together, with little variety to each day. On Day 65, this has been going on for more than nine weeks, but the last month, one day ends, a new one begins, and nothing seems different. I'm hoping summer brings something unique to each day -- and I know I'm the one responsible for finding that unique.
I find myself missing the NBA playoffs here in May. I associated baseball with these months, but I'm realizing basketball represents a bigger part of my sports attention span this month.
Basketball practice resumed for Michael a couple weeks ago, and Ben can swim individual workouts tomorrow. I hope they are able to last, and maybe they will, but the rush to get out of quarantine portends another wave and maybe another lockdown. Utah flattened the curve a little, but flattened it at a high rate of cases, without much consistent reduction. Other parts of the country are spiking as the hardest-hit areas slowly recover.
Summer is uncertain, but I can't wait to get on the road for a vacation. I just don't when we'll be able to plan it.
The EZ seed we put down is growing in nicely. Today felt like summer for sure. Ben and I took the dog to the H Rock to look at the sunset, only to be thwarted again by a strip of clouds moving past Antelope Island to the west. But even he said that this felt like a summer evening.
Five weeks have passed since Easter, which is now on the front half of the pandemic. That's just too weird. The last 65 days have dragged and zipped by at the same time. I'm struggling to remember what the first couple weeks of all this felt like, but does it really feel like nine weeks have passed?
Ben and I got haircuts Friday. At least my hair is normal again. As the new week begins, headed into the long Memorial Day weekend, my goals are to distinguish each day in some way, write some more, and enjoy these last two weeks of May.
A new normal awaits. It will be replaced by another new normal and another and another. The key is looking for the joy of every day.
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