In a twist that everyone saw coming, save the writer of this column, I am middle-aged. I am an achy, peri-menopausal crank who can no longer put her socks on while standing up.
When I reflect, I see now there were signs. A few years ago I got stuck inside a formal dress in the fitting room at our dearly departed Dillard’s. Another time, I almost threw my back out on the floor of my closet while putting on tights. Just getting dressed is becoming a health hazard and I now understand the appeal of the muumuu.
But I feel like I have aged at least a decade since March when all this corona-mess hit. My mind is spent trying to keep up with the ever-changing normal. I can’t even think of something else to write about because it’s all Covid, all the time. I am just worn out. The kind of tired that buries itself behind my eyes; the kind of tired where I think I might feel better if I cried. Except I rarely cry and usually only do so when enraged.
In an effort to improve this aging body/brain, I started walking regularly around my neighborhood. I mean, we couldn’t go anywhere else anyway, and even though I am out and about more now (wearing my mask because it’s the right thing to do), the walking habit has remained. Which is, incidentally, how I discovered I now have to sit down to put on my socks.
These days, I can’t seem to walk the fatigue off. I think I spend a lot of energy worrying about how my kid is processing this crazy time, ever-conscious of how it is robbing her of so many experiences. And I am supposed to be vicariously living through her right now, so it’s a double buzz-kill!
Friends, I don’t know where you are at with all this. Is it manifesting itself mentally, physically, and spiritually like it is with me? I am curious to know what will be the lasting societal relic of this pandemic, like the way our grandparents and great-grandparents wasted not a single thing after living through The Great Depression.
It struck me this week that even if we don’t have the virus in our system, it’s surely already done a number on us all.
Holly Rosser Miller has lived and worked in Muskogee for 20 years.