It’s been two months or so since the virus started actually affecting me and jumped to the forefront of my attention. Late February, my aunt was traveling in China and the escalating news got me worried she would get stuck there. My dad was thinking of traveling too later in the spring, but not any more. Same for my sister, who had a big trip planned and began weighing costs and benefits and risks.

That jostling of plans was really the first reaction to the virus, when I look back now. I think of the bunching ruffles on a rug when you catch your toe under an edge. I was looking forward to dinner with Connie, camping trip with Elbert, and some PTO. Then suddenly, from one day to the next, my sense of the future disappeared, like a thick fog rolled in and smothered every foreseeable event. It’s fuzzy all the way to the horizon and no one knows what’s going to happen.

My memory is just as fuzzy. I’m trying to remember in order to write these things down, but it’s hard recalling what I felt then. I keep trying to react in that moment in the past with all the information I have now. Hindsight. Of course I should have cancelled all those things! Of course I should have paid more attention to those news reports! And so on.

Fuzz all around, fuzz fuzz. I lose track of time like a lot of people, and it doesn’t really matter. I’m lucky enough to work from home. Weekends still stand out, surprisingly. I don’t know. Like, waking up on a Saturday feels sweet. It’s noticeable. Sundays still feel like crap.

We’re not going back to normal, not even when we get a vaccine. People would have all the reasons in the world to justify wearing masks all the time, to not go to crowded places, wash their hands more, stock up on beans. Germaphobes and preppers are hella validated.

And pessimists.