I would really like a sandwich. One of those overly crafted fancy sandwiches with a lot of specialty ingredients. Excellent bread. Expensive cheese. Sprouts.
I haven't had a good sandwich in probably a year. Since Dummy #1 and I went to Jerry's. Or possibly the last time I was in the Loop at the right time to stop at Pastoral. It's a tiny thing that's making me sad this week while I'm still on my Dear God I Want Life Back kick.
Of course, the flip side of that is how insurmountable simple tasks feel. I've completely forgotten how to do things without the CTA (I have been running between the two condos on my bike for that business, but that's technically walking distance and requires me to carry only keys) and driving? Just.No. It isn't only that the car is 25 years old and starting to show it (the A/C stopped working and now we're not sure whether the windshield wipers do)--it's also mainly I hate driving. After slightly more than 30 years of hating to drive. I really hate to drive.
And, of course, the anxiety of being out with strangers. This is partly reasonable (will you keep an appropriate distance? will you wear a mask?) and partly completely unreasonable (are you a McClosky? Are you going to start spouting hate?) and partly banal (I'm out of practice).
So. I stay home. We walk in the park. I do Zoom cocktail hours. Sometimes my sister sits in my yard with me. Spouse does the grocery runs. Dummy #1 runs errands for me and for Dummy #2 sometimes. In between, I struggle to get work done, sew more cloth masks, do the odd household chore.
In a shockingly unfortunate time, I could be more fortunate only if I were a tech billionaire.