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The Doomsday Journals, Week 2
Mar. 13th, 2020 07:49 pmI have fled.
A good number of my coworkers have begun fleeing work, starting at the end of last week and continuing into this one - choosing to stay at home and work remotely. I've been among the holdouts, partly because my work can be done much better at the physical site, and partly because I kept thinking just close us already, and hoping the decision would be taken out of my hands.
It hasn't been. Even as the stories mount - case after case, site after site closing down - and the casualties stack up; even as the governor issues orders and proclamations and shutdowns; even as classes get pushed further back or more online - still, the library remains stubbornly open. Still, we receive emails thanking us for our patience with this "rapidly evolving situation" while morale at work itself sinks lower and lower. We all want to be closed, but still they refuse to tell us.
(I know a lot is going into those decisions, a lot that I can't see. But all I see is the mire of uncertainty and anxiety and despair, and it's very hard to have empathy for that amidst all this.)
At the beginning of the week, I joked that my anxiety-meter had broken. It felt like I'd come out the other side of relentless stress and only saw reasons to be disgruntled. Like no matter how hard I tried I couldn't connect to the feelings anymore - like after being under that stress for so long, I'd simply adjusted to it or broken under the pressure.
It's back now. Especially as reports of overcrowded hospitals and overworked staff, important social safety nets being lost through schools and governments scrambling to cover them up (with programs we should have implemented already, not only now in emergency) - and, today, a wave of layoffs . . . oh, it's back.
The thing that scares me most - well, no, by now, everything scares me most. But I'm not afraid for myself. I'm one of the least vulnerable demographics out there, and I have a really good immune system and almost never get sick. Even if I do get this thing, I don't think I'm at risk. But the thing that scares me is how easy it is to have it and not know, and then infect others. I could have it right now, and have no idea.
It's that that has kept me away from other people outside of work, largely. I live right smack in the center of the Contamination Zone, as I've come to call it. My mom has invited me over a few times but I've thought-- I don't want to bring it to her.
But then today, I realized something. I've been thinking about acting proactively versus reacting - and how we're so stricken right now because we've done the latter. It feels like my work won't close until someone turns up with the virus, at which point we will all have been exposed. And I thought: if I wait until there's any certainty, it will be too late.
And then I thought about the recommended quarantine period. Two weeks of social isolation. Two weeks alone in my itty-bitty, poorly-lit one-bedroom, with no interaction outside of technology, eating weirder and weirder meals because I'm running out of food, running out of space, running out of air--
And at work, we still didn't know what would happen, and I spoke to my boss (who has been remote for over a week now) and she asked how I was doing, emotionally - how I thought I would be doing, emotionally - and it made me think.
And I called my mom and I asked her if she was serious about having me stay.
I made the decision and the arrangements in the space of about three hours. It's been a hectic afternoon, but I just decided I couldn't bear the thought of quarantining alone in my tiny space. Here it's big enough that I can have some space, there's company, there are cats . . . there's the easy comfort of family, the feeling that I don't have to impress and it's fine if I seclude myself for some needed privacy. We'll see how long that feeling lasts, but I'm glad I've made it, even if I feel bad about the people all still there.
Now I just have to hope I didn't carry it with me.
It is interesting, though - in the wake of all this, I've at least found reason to be grateful for being in the exact position I am right now. I've been having so many crises lately: guilt over not knowing what I want to do with my life, pressure to go to grad school like my successful stepbrother, uncertainty with the too-many too-few options combined with deep personal uncertainty . . . and now I find myself very glad I'm exactly where I am. I'm glad I'm working at a university library, where illness will not affect demand for our work. I'm glad I'm able to work remotely. And I'm glad I'm not a student right now, with uncertainty about how I'll do in my next classes with the scramble to make them remote, or worry about how this will affect graduation. I'm glad I'm not starting grad school in the fall, worrying about finding a new place to live and making a new life plan. I have so much compassion and empathy for people in the position of losing work or fearing for their studies and their futures, but it does remind me to be grateful that I've ended up exactly where I am right now.
A good number of my coworkers have begun fleeing work, starting at the end of last week and continuing into this one - choosing to stay at home and work remotely. I've been among the holdouts, partly because my work can be done much better at the physical site, and partly because I kept thinking just close us already, and hoping the decision would be taken out of my hands.
It hasn't been. Even as the stories mount - case after case, site after site closing down - and the casualties stack up; even as the governor issues orders and proclamations and shutdowns; even as classes get pushed further back or more online - still, the library remains stubbornly open. Still, we receive emails thanking us for our patience with this "rapidly evolving situation" while morale at work itself sinks lower and lower. We all want to be closed, but still they refuse to tell us.
(I know a lot is going into those decisions, a lot that I can't see. But all I see is the mire of uncertainty and anxiety and despair, and it's very hard to have empathy for that amidst all this.)
At the beginning of the week, I joked that my anxiety-meter had broken. It felt like I'd come out the other side of relentless stress and only saw reasons to be disgruntled. Like no matter how hard I tried I couldn't connect to the feelings anymore - like after being under that stress for so long, I'd simply adjusted to it or broken under the pressure.
It's back now. Especially as reports of overcrowded hospitals and overworked staff, important social safety nets being lost through schools and governments scrambling to cover them up (with programs we should have implemented already, not only now in emergency) - and, today, a wave of layoffs . . . oh, it's back.
The thing that scares me most - well, no, by now, everything scares me most. But I'm not afraid for myself. I'm one of the least vulnerable demographics out there, and I have a really good immune system and almost never get sick. Even if I do get this thing, I don't think I'm at risk. But the thing that scares me is how easy it is to have it and not know, and then infect others. I could have it right now, and have no idea.
It's that that has kept me away from other people outside of work, largely. I live right smack in the center of the Contamination Zone, as I've come to call it. My mom has invited me over a few times but I've thought-- I don't want to bring it to her.
But then today, I realized something. I've been thinking about acting proactively versus reacting - and how we're so stricken right now because we've done the latter. It feels like my work won't close until someone turns up with the virus, at which point we will all have been exposed. And I thought: if I wait until there's any certainty, it will be too late.
And then I thought about the recommended quarantine period. Two weeks of social isolation. Two weeks alone in my itty-bitty, poorly-lit one-bedroom, with no interaction outside of technology, eating weirder and weirder meals because I'm running out of food, running out of space, running out of air--
And at work, we still didn't know what would happen, and I spoke to my boss (who has been remote for over a week now) and she asked how I was doing, emotionally - how I thought I would be doing, emotionally - and it made me think.
And I called my mom and I asked her if she was serious about having me stay.
I made the decision and the arrangements in the space of about three hours. It's been a hectic afternoon, but I just decided I couldn't bear the thought of quarantining alone in my tiny space. Here it's big enough that I can have some space, there's company, there are cats . . . there's the easy comfort of family, the feeling that I don't have to impress and it's fine if I seclude myself for some needed privacy. We'll see how long that feeling lasts, but I'm glad I've made it, even if I feel bad about the people all still there.
Now I just have to hope I didn't carry it with me.
It is interesting, though - in the wake of all this, I've at least found reason to be grateful for being in the exact position I am right now. I've been having so many crises lately: guilt over not knowing what I want to do with my life, pressure to go to grad school like my successful stepbrother, uncertainty with the too-many too-few options combined with deep personal uncertainty . . . and now I find myself very glad I'm exactly where I am. I'm glad I'm working at a university library, where illness will not affect demand for our work. I'm glad I'm able to work remotely. And I'm glad I'm not a student right now, with uncertainty about how I'll do in my next classes with the scramble to make them remote, or worry about how this will affect graduation. I'm glad I'm not starting grad school in the fall, worrying about finding a new place to live and making a new life plan. I have so much compassion and empathy for people in the position of losing work or fearing for their studies and their futures, but it does remind me to be grateful that I've ended up exactly where I am right now.
