By Alexis Angelus
It’s getting hard. I’m trying to look on the bright side, but it’s hard. It seemed insane at first, but now it’s difficult to not feel like I’m going insane. I’m trying to create reasons this will be okay, but it’s hard to keep supporting them. Things are getting weird here. My parents have been insane about spraying everything down with bleach. If we get a package, they sprint to the door with a bottle and rag to disinfect everything before it comes farther than the porch. When I went on a run today, I passed a woman twice who flipped up her mask at every passerby. People avoid you like the plague — literally — on the sidewalks. They cross the streets when they see you coming. If I didn’t know what was going on, I might take it personally.
I can’t stop thinking about how long this will follow us for. How long will I be stuck inside? How long until I can get a job? How long until I can see my friends? How long until I can go outside, touch things in the grocery store, hug my family, and not be scared? In 30 years, when the class of 2020 shows up on my resume, will they pity me? Or will they admire the fact that we got through it?