Living in the time of pandemic: COVID-19 (288)
December 8, 2025
Year 4 of COVID in the Bay Area
Year 6, Day 224: The majority of the time, when I hear a friend is getting divorced, I’m relieved and happy for them. Relieved because they’re finally choosing themselves, happy that they are allowed to choose to exit the relationship instead of having to stay trapped and miserable. There are some times, though, that the separation and filing seems came out of the blue and the friend in question is taken by surprise. It’s not always antagonistic thankfully but I do feel terrible for their feeling blindsided. We’ve just gotten news of the third one this year. I don’t know what’s going on, nor am I going to ask – that’s not for me to pry into, they can share if they are interested – I just hope they’re able to find a way to peacefully co-exist for the sake of their kid(s) and their own mental health. I see the impacts of antagonistic divorced pairs on the people themselves, along with their kids, and it really stinks.
Year 6, Day 225: I carved out time to call the propane company for a Lakota family that was running out of propane. There was a lower price per gallon if we bought more than the minimum so I went for a big refill for them. It cuts our cash in half but I think the remaining families have varying levels of needs so we might be able to help more families than just two.
I’ve asked the coordinators to give me all the information so that as soon as I can breathe, I can do some shopping research. I’m running on empty this week working a boggling number of hours, so I haven’t been able to do more than the barest of minimums.
All the families I pulled are asking for the most basic needs: propane, heaters, food. We get a lower price per gallon for ordering more, and we had enough donations come in, some from you wonderful readers <3, to allow us to take advantage of the lower pricing.
Year 6, Day 226: We were invited to share a house rental with some newish to us friend-people for a long weekend next year. I enjoy their company for half days at a time but I’m awfully leery of the commitment of sharing living space, and having to cook communal meals together, for multiple days in a row. That sounds like a lot. Their kids are alright but they are a whole handful and then some. Plus, I’m really not a confident cook – the idea of having to cook for strangers sounds downright stressful. Easy foods like breakfast, sure, we can manage things like eggs, sausage, toast/bagels, fruit, etc. But dinners feel complicated and intimidating.
Talking it over with PiC, the activities sound like fun, mostly for the kids, and I’m not opposed. It’s all the OTHER stuff around it that sound at least offputting if not nerve-wracking.
Year 6, Day 227: I was complaining about how much I hate my job, more HR fuckery this week of course, and then catching up on Courtney Milan’s newsletter was a sobering reminder of why I can’t just cut and run:
….
We were able to make this work, and most importantly, I was able to protect the budget item that is most important to me–which is, my ability to help out a little bit when I am able. Because that will be even more necessary as more and more people get crunched.
Healthcare and corporations in the US and capitalism – all utterly, irretrievably broken. This isn’t a doom post so much as a frustration post at how much suffering is wrought through capitalism.
I don’t have any real answer to this. The problems are simply too much for any single person to disaster prep for. I hate that. I hate knowing that my reality is so dependent on systems and institutions doing the right thing. They so rarely do.
This doesn’t mean we stop fighting. I’m just venting.
Year 6, Day 228: You know what will do your head in? Three kids under the age of 6 chanting “I am a gummy bear” at the top of their lungs for 28 minutes as they play.
You know what’s challenging about keeping up with my workouts (totally unrelated to the gummy bear thing which has been stuck in my head for ten days)? How my brain randomly decides it doesn’t have to actively be there while I’m counting my reps and suddenly I could have sworn I was on 12 but how am I at 18 now, did we get here legitimately or did we accidentally skip ahead and we’re really on 15? And my traitorous brain has no answers for me because it spent the intervening time between 12 and 18, however much or little that was, off dancing with fireflies and has zero recollection of the whole matter. “We” because clearly my brain and I are separate entities in this matter. It’s so annoying! I can’t even make an educated guess because either scenario is completely plausible. The skipping ahead is why I used to start counting money in different languages when totaling up the cash drawers for the night. That was a defense against an actual external asshole, my brother, who would come in and start saying random numbers in English to mess me up and force me to start over.
Clever way past-you handled that counting situation! I wonder if it’s time to start counting reps in another language. I was thinking you could time yourself, so if the workout only took x minutes you must have gotten the count wrong, but that sounds way harder and more complicated than it would be worth!
That insurance payment she’s making … gulp. That’s exactly the scenario that keeps so many people trapped in their jobs. I’m not very hopeful.
Confession: at least 1/3 of my problem TODAY is I like to read on my phone while I’m counting off the reps *hides* soooo there’s also that. I did start counting in Spanish and Vietnamese tonight. I might move to Italian and … hm. My Mandarin and Cantonese are almost equally crap. No, not quite true, I don’t think I can eve count to ten in Cantonese. Maybe I should add Portuguese to the mix for funsies. Not sure I have 1-10 in French, either. This could be good for both body AND brain!
Exactly this. I’m terrified of retiring only to be wiped out by premiums skyrocketing and then needing actual healthcare on top of it. I’ve never had anything truly critical, only chronic and terrible, but that’s expensive in its own way with the occasional ED visits where I come home feeling like an idiot.