The Time to Write

No one likes the reason for the Stay At Home orders we have been under. Who among us is okay with 90,000+ citizens of the United States dying from an enemy too small to see with your naked eyes?  I know I’m not.

I would much rather go back in time and stop the last few months from happening, but that is the stuff of fantasy or science fiction novels and not the reality of life right now. Instead, some of us have made certain that we have enough toilet paper to last the rest of our lives while the rest of us are left pondering what items might be used in its place.

I never thought Isopropyl Alcohol (also known as rubbing alcohol) would be a hard to find item. Who thought it would come to this?

I did think I would get more writing done than I have. Instead, my daily routines are checking my news feeds, drinking copious amounts of coffee, walking my doggos, trying to find a mask, and searching the stores for toilet paper.  For my mask, I opted for a bright pink bandana and have dubbed myself the “Geriatric Bandit”. The staff at the local grocers are very familiar with my signature look.

I’m very fortunate to live in Arizona so I can soak up all of that healthy Vitamin D. Let’s just say, my skin has turned brown and now I stress over getting skin cancer despite applying a sunscreen with an SPF of 100.  I burn off excess energy in the pool each day.

While I’m busy with all of these daily tasks, I think about writing. I have written a few chapters for my WIP. I have recorded a short story for a podcast and I’ve started writing another short story.

The time I always wished to have free to write unhampered by outside influences is here, but I can’t help thinking about those people we’ve lost too soon. The medical personnel who leave work exhausted and in tears over what they’d seen that day.  The people who go to work in those jobs that are so necessary for our society to function but are poorly paid and never shown the appreciation they deserve — cashiers and baggers at the store, the garbage men, the construction crews, funeral directors and staff, transportation workers. The teachers putting packets together for students and families each week. The families of the workers who expose themselves everyday. The lists go on and on.

I think of you instead of my imaginary characters.  I don’t write very much right now, but I pray for you.

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