Already! But Also Only

Time to say the thing we always say in August:

How is it August already?

We always say that in August.

Actually, we say that in July too, and in June, and May. Every month we say that and again at every month's halfway point. Adult human beings exist in this constant state of wonderment that it is the day that it is—already!—while also constantly wishing it was a different day. And the different day we wish it was is never the day we thought it was going to be, or if it is we're surprised and upset when it ends, as though we thought that day might come and time might freeze and we might get to live in that day for a few years, at least, or forever if we're lucky. 

I guess this year is different in that a lot of the things we were going to do—from work to music festivals to vacations—have been canceled or shuffled or adjusted or modified beyond recognition. Time marches on like our moms at Walmart, right past the toy aisles, straight to the school supplies. So maybe this year it does feel like May and June and July were truly lost, not just fast.

In other ways, for some of us, it's just felt like summer. 

Barclay and I never do summer vacations—because we're broke and he's mostly always done seasonal work and summer is busy and I'm in the creative lull that comes after releasing a book, which means that I've had neither the desire nor the ability to work on the next thing. So summer this year just kind of looks like it was going to look, Covid19 or no Covid19. The kids and I, at home, at the park, on walks around the neighborhood. Drawing, playing, cleaning, baking. Sometimes meeting up with friends for outdoor playdates.

But while I may not have physically travelled anywhere these past few months, I have covered a lot of distance emotionally. Through March's feelings of disorientation and fear (what is this thing? What's happening?), through April's grief (we miss people; we miss normal things—and still, what's happening?) and the increasing dissonance of May, June, and July as the illusion of togetherness completely shattered and everyone began to vehemently disagree about whether the virus was real, whether it was "that bad," whether it was all a conspiracy, whether we should obey the government's guidelines or not... 

Honestly, that's been the worst part of all of it for me. It's been—at the risk of sounding just a tad hysterical—psychological torture to hear first-hand accounts of the abject horror of this sickness from friends who live in hot spots or work in Covid units or have had loved ones die or have fallen sick themselves, even as folks are out there shouting as loud as they can, "People aren't dying! It's all a hoax, an overreaction! It's just the flu!" My brain hurts. 

I have been thinking of similes to illustrate this strange time in history, simply because I love similes. Here are three:

1. It's like someone's humming a note and ten other people are holding ten other notes just slightly off-key to create this discordant, confusing DRONE. After a while, the noise becomes part of the background but you feel unsettled all the time and a little like you're losing your mind.

2. It's like I am standing beside a person watching an avalanche come roaring down a mountain, and I am like, "AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!" And the person beside me is like, "What's your problem?"

3. It's like a bunch of people decided to start driving through school zones at 100 km/h and are incredulous that I'm still going 30. I often feel like a completely crazy person, but why? It's not like I'm going to drive 20 or 10. It's not like I'm going to set my car on fire and never drive again; I'm literally just obeying the law. I just trust the professionals who've done the studies and decided that this is the safest speed for driving in a place where vulnerable people might possibly be walking... And if those professionals are, for whatever reason, actually evil villains who just want to take away my rights to drive really fast...okay? At least my conscience is clean and I'll know I made choices I can live with in the event that they're not evil villains? 

Anyway.

We've arrived at August. Already. And now school is looming on the horizon, which is a bit weird, and if time keeps on going the way it has always gone, September will be here before we know it. There are a lot of opinions and sides and anger and fear swirling around the subject of school—but I suppose I should be used to opinions and sides and anger and fear by now. Those are basically the mascots of 2020. There was an announcement last week about what the school year is going to look like, about what the plan is. The plan, it turns out, is very...skeletal. No masks, no reduced classroom sizes, etc—it's very much about normalcy and not making the kids feel like they're going to school in a pandemic. The problem is: the kids are going to school in a pandemic.

So I suppose that's a thing I will need to figure out soon here. What this fall will look like for Sully and Scarlett and me. 

But for now? It's August. Already! But also, only. Today, I'm going to take my kids to the park. I'm going to enjoy it. If there's anything I've learned from living through a pandemic, it's that thinking about the pandemic all the time doesn't actually do anything at all. 

Fancy 

that.