If life ever does return to something resembling normality, it is going to take quite the effort convincing my body to keep regular sleeping and waking hours. Most nights I attempt going to sleep by 11PM, but somehow that seems to be the only time my teenager wants to have anything to do with me. He only rolls out of bed by 3 PM at the earliest, more often only in time for the evening meal. I understand. Perhaps he's found the best approach to the pandemic is sleeping through as much of it as possible. School will resume soon enough (Though we still don't know if that will be physically or virtually) and he'll adjust, but for the moment there seems only benefit from extra sleep. Most teenagers are on the deprived end of the sleep scale.
So we'll talk, or Dan will. I don't have anything encouraging to offer, but sometimes just getting it verbalised is helpful. These generation Z kids take no prisoners though, I'll tell you that much. That's good-someone should be holding those in power to account.
The past few days we've been getting up at 4 AM to try and catch a glimpse of the comet Neowise. Our skies in Omaha are fairly dark and we have good views, but we've been thwarted by clouds. This morning I thought we might do better driving out to the country and getting to a higher, more open space above the tree lines. It was a better view, generally but still obscured by clouds. We'll keep trying as long as it is there-we need something to do. We've had clear views of Venus, and several constellations so perhaps the clouds will shift enough on the horizon to give us a chance.
He went straight to bed when we got home at sunrise. I made tea, and decided to just get on with the day. Whatever optimism I might have started the day with at 4 AM was quickly diminished by a quick glance at the morning news. It feels foolish to even bother looking, but there's always a chance that a useful cure will be found, only to have that hope dashed quickly by reports that whatever immunity is derived from antibodies lasts a far shorter time than suspected. How do you keep boosting a vaccine that only lasts but a few months? I'm an anthropologist, how the fuck should I know? I took biology at school like everyone else, but I wouldn't claim expertise. That hasn't stopped politicians and pundits with even less science background offering their thoughts on the subject as facts. It is all so terribly depressing.
I showered and got dressed. Made the bed because for the time being it is my office as Mr. Eat The Blog is working downstairs. It is a king sized bed with plenty of room to spread out, and my night table is an antique child's desk with room for a lamp, a mug of tea, and other items. There's a north-east facing window that gets the morning sun without heating up the room too much, so that's pleasant enough. Sometimes I take outfit photos for Instagram, but with such an early start this morning I don't much feel like putting on makeup. I'll work until three or so, then start thinking about making dinner. By then, Dan will be starting to wake up, and the local Covid numbers will be getting posted by the health department for the day. They're not really going up, but they're not decreasing either. We've plateaued more or less in Omaha, but that's poor consolation to the families of those two or three people that seem to die daily. We're doing better than the rest of the country though, so it feels rude to complain.
Tomorrow I have a visit to the dentist-it could only be delayed so long. I'm hoping that the lull we seem to be in will last long enough for me to deal with what needs attention before the next, almost certainly inevitable lockdown comes. They're taking precautions, and I have the first appointment of the day in an office that hasn't yet been breathed on! In a strange way, I'm looking forward to it. Getting out is getting out at this point. I'll take whatever distraction I can get.
I wonder how we'll fill our time once the comet is gone? Chasing after something elusive is about all there is to sustain us, be it cures for the seemingly incurable, or snowballs of ice and ammonia, their tails reflected in the sun.
That last paragraph is a horribly over-written attempt at being thoughtful. Maybe I should get some sleep.