I know, I know, I said I was going to write on the page more often and then I disappeared for almost three years or exactly about two years and eight months! Wow, I can’t believe it’s been that long! All I can say is that a lot has happened in those almost three years, so much that I have to write about. The good news is that I have been writing but more with an actual pen and paper than with my computer. I think I needed to do that. I needed to do it so I could set myself free on the computer and on the web. 

I wasn’t going into this yet, but what the heck, let’s get into it. Right now I have Covid or my self diagnosed Omicron or one of its variants. So after almost three years of doing what we have all been doing for these three years, isolating, disinfecting, guarding ourselves, reopening things, going back into the world, fearful shy intimidated. I finally got it, the dreaded virus.

Since the beginning of the Pandemic, I’ve become more nervous. I often wonder, could it be the move? The new job? The new co-workers? The new town? The new streets? The prednisone taper? I finally realized that it was the pandemic. I’ve felt nervous when going to try new things, meet new people, talk to my co-workers. After our office closed on March 16, 2020, I had the same jittery feeling. On Saint Patrick’s Day, I felt nervous pressing the elevator button to get to my license renewal appointment. There were no festivities that day. The city was closing, Brooklyn seemed empty, we started wearing masks. That day my finger was shaking when I stuck it out to press the call button. It was a new feeling and an odd one for me. Now it seems like it happens all the time. I didn’t put two and two together until recently. I’ve been nervous because of the pandemic, have I been afraid to get the virus?

My husband tells me I don’t realize when I’m stressed out. Has the pandemic been stressing me out? Ah…yeah! That’s a bit of an understatement. So much happened that year that caused a lot of emotional stirring on a worldwide level. In May, a white lady who felt entitled to let her dog run around unleashed in Central Park humiliated bird-watcher Christian Copper and falsely accused him of threatening her and her dog, calling the police on him. On Memorial Day weekend, George Floyd was killed by the police in Minnesota. Both incidents caused a lot of trauma and turmoil in the black community who have been suffering with these types of injustices for too long. Protests erupted all over the world. People in solidarity with black people and fed up of abuses by the police. All of this was amid a worldwide pandemic where every country was in lockdown. Graduations were being cancelled. Families were suffering, people were dying alone and isolated. Bodies were piling up and medical staff were being challenged in ways they never imagined.

I remember hearing the constant wail of ambulances and emergency vehicles every day for weeks. At seven pm I stood by the window and made noises with my shell rattle or pots and pans celebrating the medical workers who were risking their lives protecting our fellow loved ones. I generously tipped essential workers when they delivered food or groceries, since they were risking their lives now that they deemed their jobs essential and had to continue working. I disinfected every delivered package, doorknob and high touch surface in the Brooklyn apartment. 

In July, my employer had us return to the office once a week so we could do our jobs more smoothly. They had us stagger the day we went in with our row mates, so none of the people I usually worked around were there. We handled all our work via computer and became very efficient at using virtual tools. The fax and telephone continued to be a great help now, more so than in a long time. Online meetings and Zoom became the norm. We adapted, somehow, we adapted. What else could we do? Why wouldn’t we adapt? That’s why we are at the apex, isn’t it? Because of our ability to adapt? Our evolution. 

In October, after months of renovations and living separately, our long awaited move to the New York Capital Region finally came. We’d planned it since 2019, bought our old 1870s farmhouse in January, a fixer upper. Little did we know we were trendsetters. There was a max exodus of people from the cities. Suddenly, everyone wanted to do what my husband and I had planned for over a year. We were worried that we wouldn’t be able to get a moving truck because of all the people who had been moving out of the city. We spent a night on Long Island with family in Floral Park and then made the three-hour trip to our new home. 

Living in a new area during the pandemic wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t difficult either. Now I didn’t have to spend all my time indoors avoiding my neighbors. Now I had a yard; 2.1 acres at that, but I missed the three daily walks I gave my dog along Ocean Parkway and the streets of Brooklyn. I missed Prospect Park; I missed Coney Island. Hell, I even missed Long Island. I missed what I had called My Year of Brooklyn. It was how I’d planned to spend my time the last year of living in Brooklyn, exploring. I’d planned on visiting all my favorite places and places I hadn’t been to while living there. 

Instead, I’d spent most of it cooped up in the apartment looking out the windows and listening to ambulances, on Zoom calls, or sitting at the malls along Ocean Parkway with my dog while on his walks. Almost everything was closed, but eventually pickup and outdoor eating became a thing. I got to do some of that in Brooklyn, eat outdoors and buy take home cocktails. It was the same upstate but a little less cautious because of the different culture. We spent a lot of time at Home Depot or Lowes getting constructions supplies for the house. The price of lumber and other construction supplies shocked us. Shortages and supply chain issue were developing. There were bottlenecks at ports and worker shortages. 

In July 2021, at work, we were told to go to the office 2-3 times a week. In September, children went back to school, and some parents went back to work worried about who would watch their kids. Time went by and at the end of the year, they introduced a vaccine for Covid; seniors, medical workers and the immunocompromised were first in line to get inoculated.

This year has been another year with shortages, but also rising salaries, rising home prices, rising gas prices and rising interest rates. Things have mostly gone back to normal, but Covid is still around and inflation is high so it’s the new normal. Many people have Covid Fatigue, many have moved on from it and many surprisingly haven’t. Which brings me to the present in which I’m currently getting over Covid. Because of the rare autoimmune condition I live with, I’ve had four Covid vaccinations. Three qualify as my original series and the fourth is my booster. I take immune suppressants that make me vulnerable to infection. So far it hasn’t been so bad. I had a sore throat and chills the day I started getting symptoms. I thought it may be my period but the next day I still felt the sore throat and was developing a slight cough. At home, I took one of the Covid tests my insurance company paid for and was positive. I tested twice to make sure, but with the symptoms, it was obvious. It reminded me a bit of when I took three pregnancy tests at eighteen and each said I was pregnant.

When I returned to work six days later, during a talk with my manager; we spoke about my nervousness. I told him how having Covid was a bit of a relief since my nervousness began that Saint Patrick’s Day when I was afraid of all the unknowns caused by the virus. Since I have it, I told him and am OK; I have nothing to be nervous about. Ten days later, I’m still testing positive but feel fairly well, well enough to have done pilates all week. I’m one of the lucky ones.