The more the world opens up in a pre-post-Covid way, the more I want to stay in bed. I’m a year deep into this routine of working from home, and while I understand how abnormal it is to only see people through electronic devices, I am also fine with it continuing. I am also also, possibly, actively dreading its end.

I mean, no. I’m not really. It definitely makes no sense, work-wise. My title is office manager, shouldn’t I (oughtn’t I?) be in an office, managing it?

Today was Memorial Day, a holiday that I spent at work, in my bed, like it was any other Monday, which it was. Boundaries are a thing I have heard of. But it’s not like there was anywhere else to go. A year of isolation and it’s still not okay to run out in the street yelling INVITE ME TO YOUR BARBECUE, GODDAMNIT, I CAN SMELL LIGHTER FLUID AND MEAT, I JUST NEED THE ADDRESS.

I don’t know why life is exhausting right now. I have shelter and work and a therapist who’s helped me get through so many different kinds of grief. I have soft creatures to walk and pet, and an endlessly amusing roomate/my son. We’re both full of tattoos. I meditate and I don’t drink too much. I have things to look forward to.

Can you just grow tired of waiting? Is that it? Can you languish to death?

I don’t really want (by which I mean, I absolutely do want) to stay in bed and keep everyone far away, to keep their smiles clean and tucked away in my little box of pictures and voices. On the days I physically go into to office to check the mail and water the plants, if I happen to see one of my coworkers in real life it makes me feel like my face is on inside out.

It’s just a lot. It’s a lot to have your job be helping people on days when you need help just being yourself.