DAILY GRIND OF PANDEMIC LIFE IS WEARING ME DOWN

Time has warped. Paradoxically, during the pandemic, it seems to be going both slower and faster.

The mid-March lockdown feels like an eternity ago. Yet those nearly four months have blurred into speeded up sameness, punctuated by ... well, nothing.

I feel off balance even before the daily death tolls that bring a guilty elation because fewer Canadians have died. But they are still dying, and every day brings a new litany of COVID-induced distress.

And there is my unmitigated anger over unnecessary deaths in countries like the United States, where people are too self-absorbed, too stupid or too vain to take precautions for the good of others.

In the beginning, the challenge of living during a pandemic was oddly invigorating. It opened the opportunity for changing patterns, thinking differently, learning new things. How else to explain the sourdough rush?

The nightly pot-banging turned strangers into neighbours. There was that initial, bracing belief that we’re all in this together. Of course, soon enough it became obvious that we aren’t, and that people who were at the margins before are most at risk of losing their lives, their livelihoods and their homes.

I ruefully admit that I shouldn’t complain. I’m healthy, I have a job, and I don’t have to worry about paying my bills. And I was doing OK up until recently. But now, I’m not. (Although let me hasten to add that I have no intention of becoming one of those COVIDidiots who won’t wear a mask, maintain social distance, or give up on handwashing.)

Daily pandemic living is wearing me down, with all its uncertainties, micro-decisions and micro-irritations.

Do I have a mask? Do I need a mask? Why isn’t he wearing a mask? Why are they hogging the sidewalk? Why is there always a lineup? And why didn’t anyone plan better so that the internet and cellphone connections don’t slow and sputter when we’re all logged on and using technology that four months ago we didn’t know existed?

There’s also sadness. Every week, my neighbourhood is changing, with one more empty storefront or shuttered business.

But it was heartening to see the Chai Wagon parked in the doorway of a shuttered Starbucks.

The unflinching optimism of entrepreneurs is one of the many lessons to be learned from COVID in a society that often fails to fully respect what courage each venture — small or large — requires.

It has added another lens to my decision-making. For my favourite restaurants and shops to survive, I have to do what I can to support them.

Takeout at least once a week finally feels virtuous, not lazy. The same goes for next-day delivery of cases of Okanagan wine.

Going into an actual restaurant seems luxurious beyond belief, if not for the food, then for the chance to get dressed up and hear the buzz, even in a halffilled room of strangers appropriately distanced.

One thing COVID has reinforced is that many of us don’t need nearly as much as what we already have. Cocooning at home has led to a few comfort purchases, as well as a necessary replacement after the stove broke during Week 2. But that’s all.

Rather than sparking joy, my pandemic cull of drawers and closets sparked the realization that I still have plenty of clothes, even with fewer places than ever to wear them.

Even though I’m still hamstrung by simple decisions like whether it’s OK to have an at-home dinner with friends more cavalier about socially distancing than I am, I irrationally long to run away to some place far, far from here.

It’s something I’m forced to think about because my use-itor-lose-it holidays must be taken before September.

So where? And how? Europe is open. But that would require a 14-day quarantine on return, to say nothing of a plane ride. And after months of social distancing, there is nothing comfortable about sharing an armrest with a stranger and the ever-present prospect that snoring and drooling will ensue.

Driving also entails dozens of macro- and micro-decisions. Where do you go when many communities have made it clear they don’t want visitors? Where do you stay? If it’s a hotel, do you take your own pillow? Do you sanitize everything, or trust that someone else has?

Perversely, it’s enough to make me long for the pandemic’s early days. The rules were simple: Stay home with only socially distanced, outdoor exercise and essential trips to the grocery and pharmacy allowed.

Back then, there was certainty that Dr. Bonnie Henry would say that the restrictions were only for now, not for forever.

But now, there is no certainty. There is only the possibility that, for better or worse, the rules might all change tomorrow.