Italy is closed. Shut down. My eldest is infatuated with stuff like this.
“Never in my whole life has an entire country been shut down.”
I’ve always said that the end won’t come with nukes but either a computer something or a disease. Something viral. Do we cancel mail yet? It’s starting to feel like it could become Door Dash for Death. How about cash? Yikes.
I am not the type to believe the hype. Like, ever. My version of The Weather Channel is called “the window”. Always has been. I always know the thunderstorm or blizzard won’t be as bad as they say and I’m always right, given the chaos of hyperbole that usually comes in the telephone game of those phenomena.
But this thing is getting bigger. Not to add to the panic, but as a father and one lucky enough to have loved ones, should I allow the fear a space within me? For safety’s sake?
Is it weird that I’m torn whether I want Illinois to be locked down during school or summer? That I’m already planning to lose weight and read a lot as a long term shut-in? That I worry Netflix won’t work despite these plans?
People are dying. For many of those unaffected in this particular news cycle, the current plague is a joke. Some of this slice on it is tongue in cheek. Part of the humor is a byproduct of an era where gallows humor is tweetable gold. And part is a veil for fear.
Mostly I worry that if the worst comes it’ll be a quick quarantine. I’ll be locked away and not know for how long and I don’t know with whom. Or who I will be separated from for a mysterious stretch that could be the last forever. And that thought is scariest of all.