Oh My Giddy Aunt!
Sometimes it feels like pandemic lockdown life is a variation of the Third Doctor’s storyline. Exiled to Earth; shelter in place. Maybe that’s as far as one should flex the possible comparisons.
It’s been a long, strange fifteen months since Covid-19, with all of its variants, enveloped the world as we knew it. I’d be hard pressed to name anyone of my acquaintance who felt fine. The blatant antisocial behaviour of some people made it easy for me to reshape my social media spheres. Sorry not sorry. Y’all made me feel some kind of way with your photos of being out in public, having parties, without PPE.
I was approaching peak neurosis in April when I walked into a local grocery store and asked the in-store pharmacist for a spot on a cancellation list to get the controversial AstraZeneca vaccine. I couldn’t handle being an essential worker and having avoided infection through a combination of dumb luck and adherence to protocols. I couldn’t risk infecting my kids. Parents. Sister. On May 3rd, I would have attached flamethrowers to my shoes if I thought it would get me to my appointment any faster.
As much as it would’ve been nice to have had conventions to go to in person, I can’t say I’ve missed them. Not with the infectious case loads in key cities zipping in and out of red, orange, yellow, and grey zones. Maybe there’s a next time. 2022 isn’t so very far away?