And what is stressing me out? Everything and nothing.
The office is reopening 2/22. We will be expected to show up 3 days/week. I don't know how this will work, as the office isn't big enough to hold all of us at a social distance on any given day, but they have 3 weeks to work that out. I am deeply ambivalent about this. There's a freedom to working from home that I will miss. On the other hand, I miss the city and I'm getting squirrelly, spending too much time alone.
Then there's Covid. It seems there's always Covid! Because of O'Hare, there will always be stubbornly unvaccinated citizens passing through Chicago and callously putting me at risk. I'm trying to put a good face on it, literally, and upgraded to N95 masks. But they don't fit me. Not the ones with straps around the head, not the ones with straps behind my ears. So I'll double mask and hope for the best. But the situation makes me sad.
My mind has been wandering to my mortality. I don't think I'm being morbid. I'm not dwelling, but between the pandemic and Kathy's problems, I'm increasingly aware I'm in the late innings of the game. Like yesterday, out of nowhere, it occurred to me that I'll never see Prince William be King. Reading about Big Papi making the Hall of Fame made me wonder which of my beloved 2016 Cubs team will go into Cooperstown. Kris Bryant, I decided. But I probably will be dead before that happens.
I'm not afraid of death, per se. I'm good with God and feel confident I'll be welcome in Heaven. But I don't like prospect of getting there. Will I suffer diminished capacity, like Kathy? Will I be scared and in pain, like my mom was? Will the market tank, leaving me broke, because so many dumb douchebags prefer to believe Tucker Carlson over Dr. Fauci and Covid stays with us forever?
I miss Reynaldo.
My shrink feels my Covid fatigue is pretty standard issue. Normal and understandable, if not healthy. She feels that we're all suffering from it to one degree or another.
In the meantime, where's the remote?
