How is it, I have to ask, that we can witness history in the making and feel almost no compunction to write about it? Is it because, sometimes, history is exhausting? We are living through moments that will be taught in history classes over the next century, but I struggle to find the emotional energy to put even this missive down. Maybe it's a muscle you have to exercise. Exercise is also exhausting.
I realize that I'm privileged and that there are billions of others worse off than me. A writer friend, after yesterday's attempted coup against the legitimate government of the United States of America, threw up her hands and said, essentially, "I teach a course on dystopic fiction. What am I going to do now?" I can see where she's coming from, but there is an answer. It's "Imagine all this is happening, and your water supply is also contaminated. Then bring in speakers from some of those First Nations communities across Canada."
We are now approaching the tenth month anniversary of the unofficial start of the COVID-19 pandemic. There are some glimmers of hope in that vaccines are rolling out, even if they are arriving and being administered far too slowly for everybody's liking. We are now in lockdown again -- something I fully support. Indeed, I have to question the idiocy of contemplating letting the kids go back to school before this month is over. The lockdown was set for four weeks, but it really should be at least six, and be more strictly enforced, so we can make some real progress in our numbers.
That said, I finally figured out how to get my groceries delivered, both from Sobeys and the local stores, so as to reduce my one remaining major point of potential exposure to this virus. And it allowed me to deliver more food than I could reasonably carry, so we're well stocked up before I have to contemplate another food store visit.
Again, that's thanks to my privilege. I know that, as sacrifices go, this is small compared to what others have to deal with. But I do feel good that I'm doing my own part, even as I keep my fingers crossed and consider the things I will do once this pandemic recedes.
It's also the fourth anniversary of my mother's passing. I miss her a lot.