The last ferry has left the island and I’m sitting by myself in The Reality Ballpark.
What the hell?
The “Reality Ballpark” is a term I coined 10 years ago after I had lost weight and was figuring out how to maintain the weight loss. The only thing I knew for sure was I had to sit in the reality ballpark of the number of the scale more often than I wanted. For me, I could not argue, manipulate, whittle away the meaning of the numbers. So, now, ten years later, my weight is manageable but risk management? Jesus.
How did this happen that the risk management of March and April is now a buffet of choices that do not manage risk but invite it in? Bubbles that are defined by last name and proximity, not common sense. Overnight visits that are defined as “they are like family”. I’m not talking people who have to go to work to put food on the table or pay their rent but people who choose to define “risk” management in distinctly “risky” ways. They are tired of the virus.
As of today, 179,000 dead Americans. The virus is not tired of us.
Estrangement from the government I am used to in the last three years, but not estrangement from family and friends. Is this the new normal? Is it a temporary state that will pass? I don’t know but I do know this: I’ve just ordered four volumes of Letters by Samuel Beckett. Why? The man knew how to deal with absurd situations with humor as well as humans facing grave situations. I’ve got the gravity part down, it’s the humor part that needs some nourishment. Click on the white arrow in the lower left box and listen to my interview with myself. Yep, it’s come to that. I am talking to myself these days.