I’m one of the ‘lucky’ ones. Since the outset of the Covid spread, my business has largely been shut down. The upside is that I’m finally getting the space to take care of things I’ve needed to do.

The downside…well, my business was not elgible for funds through any of the options put forth. And I’ve largely been out of work.

I spent the first month just recovering from constantly being at everyone else’s whim. The second month I started working on projects, planning my survival, and learning how to teach online classes for the part of my business that did transition.

Slowly things started opening up, too soon, as evidenced by the fact my state is now at the point where hospitals won’t admit people and ambulances are grounded. I’ve managed to stay safe, despite the close calls I’ve managed to have. Which as brought me to why I’m taking up writing again…

It almost feels like the months I was finally able to recover never happened. My anxiety level is through the roof between trying to cover my co-workers and watching the country burn. At current are the attempts to counter the fanned flames, how well that will work remains to be seen.

I’m wondering about most of my friends. Some of my closest ones say things that make me wonder exactly what they mean, because my knowledge of them leads me to wonder if the words they speak really mean what my first glance thinks they mean. And this comes from a kid who has a very German last name, who found out exactly how cruel kids could be when we learned about WW2 in history. Combine that with reading my grandfather’s letters (that were written in German) telling his aunt that they would have to stop speaking the language.

The cycle continues.