It’s been awhile. I want to say it’s because the days blend into an indistinguishable monotony, each day no different than the next. But that isn’t true. As I look back there were significant moments, that stand out in my mind. The problem is owning them as they mark moments of erosion to my own intentions.
Covid still rages, the numbers keep climbing, and yet I’ve gone out, had dinner outdoors, had my hair cut in a parking lot, and gone on trips with people from other households. Perhaps enough time has passed that I can say these things with the arrogant smirk of “see we’re all still okay.” But I still think of those things and wonder if I should have - those moments of unplanned interactions with strangers when I said to myself - well I’ve already gone this far.
It’s a weird sort of guilt, these pandemic secrets where we’ve broken our quarantine, survived, and justify it retroactively - if only to ourselves. These stolen pleasures fraught with anxiety that prevent us from fully indulging ourselves in them.
So here I am, still waiting things out, still working from home and occasionally breaking the monotony in secret stolen moments that I’m still not ready to fully confess.
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