Under the dark shadow of the pandemic, days of sunshine and lollipops are nowhere to be found. Dark and dreary our forecast, daily smiles dipping to an all-time low. Not that anyone would notice, our pearly-whites well-hidden behind protecting masks. Social restrictions, lockdowns and increasing isolation giving rise to bouts of depression in an already mentally exhausted population. Even the very strong, now feeling the effects of the “Waiting-It-out” Pandemic Blues.
I used to be a motivated individual. Got things done when needed and rarely a procrastination in-between. In fact, “I’ll do it tomorrow instead” was not even part of my vocabulary. Even the small mundane chores that didn’t need doing asap — like paying a month-ending bill, going for groceries or fixing the slightly askew kitchen drawer — I’d do without fuss and be done with it!
But things have changed. With the ceaseless continuation of the pandemic, I’ve noticed in me a growing trend. A resistance to my former promptness of getting things done. A reluctance in motivation for attending to the little things in life. More and more I find excuses, petty ones in most cases, and the words “I’ll do it tomorrow” spoken with increasing regularities.
With the pandemic came lockdowns, social restrictions and isolation. A challenging turn of normalcy but one that afforded me plenty of time to address life’s little chores. Instead, the exact opposite happened and what once was a little turn towards self-indulgence has become an alarming life-style change. A change where procrastination is an everyday thing, almost like I’m living life — in “put-it-off” mode.
What once was a daily exercise program, rigidly adhered-to, has become “I better do it today, since I’ve missed the last two.” My better go for groceries changed to “I can make it through till next week.” And my little household fix-ups that I’ve got plenty of time for, suddenly ” I just don’t feel like doing.”
Apparently my get-up-and-go — has got-up-and-went!
Okay, not the end of the world, right? A little Covid-depression, some social isolation backlash is all. But it gets worse! I’ve put on a little weight eating junk-food that I never would touch before and find myself flipping aimlessly through the mind-numbing crap on TV. Stopping at the news and screaming obscenities at the mindless government talking-heads until turning the channel before anger gets the best of me.
Reading for knowledge, one of the pleasures in my life, now more a chore of focus and attending to my blog becoming the same. A cloud of indifference follows me, wherever I go.
The pandemic has affected everybody and everyone, each of us a little differently. As part of the age-group near the danger zone, I see now it has affected me as well!
Not with fear or trepidation, nor anxiety or depression (though perhaps just a little.) No, I think what I’ve got is the blues. A bad case of the “waiting-it-out” pandemic blues.
Waiting it out until my turn at inoculation. Biding my time, staying at home and limiting my chances of exposure. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of the outside world, I venture out when need be and without major concern. But I do not do so, haphazardly!
As a high-risk candidate of problematic infection, risk vs reward has become a concern.
But Isolation itself, doesn’t scare me. I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin. I function just fine and thank you, when left to my own doings. Yet now, for the very first time, I’m starting to feel the weight of social confinement. Wishing for something I have no control of, to come to an end.
Look, we’re all tired of this effing pandemic. Tired of tip-toeing around in fear of catching it. Tired of the social restrictions, lockdowns and being stuck in the house for long periods of time. It’s making us stressful, anxious and moody and with a vaccine on the way — restless for days of yore.
And now I too have this restlessness. Hoping my turn at inoculation will be soon. But the timeline for soon in my country (Canada) keeps lengthening. Vaccinations for all promised this spring, then this summer and now not until the fall.
That’s another eight months from now, as I write this, and no surprise if longer. I can’t help thinking what my pandemic-blues will look like by then. I’m already pacing my cage like a wild animal, prone to bouts of indifference, uninterest and bordering rages of lunacy.
Still, in reality, my affliction is petty compared to the sufferings of others. What they have gone through or are still going through incomparable to my trivial unrest.
Maybe, I’m even lucky.
Lucky to only be suffering from…
The waiting-it-out Pandemic blues.
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