I went out for the first time this year the other day. I think it might have been a month since I had been out. Maybe longer. I kind of lost track.
Truth is, even if we weren’t dealing with this perpetual threat of catching a virus for which there’s only a 99.9% chance of survival, I’d probably be stuck in the house, anyway. And you know something? It doesn’t bother me.
Before all this virus nonsense, if I didn’t get out a couple of times a week, I was climbing the walls. Now? I almost prefer not going anywhere. It’s cold out there, and rainy sometimes, and everyone is on edge about getting the virus, getting very sick and ending up in the hospital, or worse, the cemetery. There might be a low probability of death, but it’s not 0%, and I’m in the high risk group. So, the way I see it, I’m better off just staying in.
Nowadays, I wake up and spend an hour having the lymph pumped out of my leg, get dressed and sit at the computer in my office. Sometimes I go down to the living room for lunch and stay there, sometimes I stay in my office until dinnertime. After Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy!, and maybe an episode of The Andy Griffith Show, I go back upstairs and spend another hour (sometimes two) having my leg pumped, then hang around in my office until I feel like going to bed. I go to bed and am sleeping really well, and sometimes I have an interesting dream or two. And when the morning light comes shining in, I get up and do it again, amen…