The only one

The world is opening up, restrictions are being lifted and people are out and about again – at least some people are.  I’m not feeling confident enough to jump back into life, even while wearing a mask.  I worry I’ve turned into some sort of recluse, a weird germaphobe who not only finds it difficult to make conversation isn’t even sure she wants to.

Am I the only one?

I’ve  been hunkered down, avoiding crowds and keeping my distance for three months – it’s become something of a way of life.  My hurry-up has gone the way of commitments and community – I have nowhere I have to be and I’m in no rush to get there.  I stay up too late and sleep in too long – I eat when I’m hungry and whatever I want.  My life has no schedule or structure.

Could I be the only one?

I can’t believe it only took three months to change a way of life.  I used to be considered out going – before going out became taboo.  I’m sure I’ve acquired some yet-to-be named phobia – corona-phobia, COVID-itis – my symptoms are probably textbook.  I’ve fallen short of the challenge – the finish line is out there somewhere and I don’t give a damn anymore. 

I can’t be the only one.

I’ve grown tired of my own reflection,  I’ve let myself go to a place of who cares.  It’s time to at least try to clean up my act.  I’m putting on my brave tomorrow and getting my hair cut – my COVID cut has grown out enough that my stylist might be able to style it.  I gave myself a pedicure on the weekend – it took two days to complete, three months of COVID baking has made breathing while touching my toes a challenge. I shaved my legs this morning and then went after some errant eyebrows. One might think I’m preparing to make my debut.

There is only one way to find out if I’m the only one.