Today I broke down in tears about the pandemic for the first time. I've had lots of tears recently regarding lots of things (Black Lives Matter, personal stuff), but I hadn't actually cried because of the pandemic. And I feel weird crying about it because I am honestly very lucky: I'm white; I have enough money saved that it's OK if I don't have a full-time teaching job this summer; no one I know personally has caught the virus, let alone died from it.
And then kind of randomly, the film Maurice triggered me. The film overall was very powerful and beautiful and sweet, and, like many films, it has scenes of people socializing at large parties and in groups. I think partly because I was connecting so emotionally with the film in general, I started crying during one of these social scenes. After the film ended, I told Ari about my experience, and cried more. Later, while washing the dishes, I listened to the Death, Sex & Money podcast called "Skin Hunger: Part 1" which was all about how people who are living alone during this pandemic miss being touched, both romantically and platonically, by other people. I am lucky enough to live with a very affectionate husband, and I consider myself a fairly introverted person. Therefore, for the past three months, I have generally been quite happy reading books and watching movies and browsing the internet for hours every day, while giving and receiving daily physical touch.
Yet with the scary increase in COVID-19 cases recently, it's really hit home today that "we" are not back to normal yet, and our society should still be self-isolating as much as possible. It scares me to think about how long I will have to wait before gathering at a party with lots of other people while feeling carefree about it. I didn't think not being able to go to a party would feel this painful, but after more than three months of essentially staying home, it's hurting more than I ever expected.