I don’t know if it’s maturity or just weariness, but over the past few years, I’ve somehow managed — finally — to develop some emotional callouses that keep me from feeling every darn thing so very much. I can see the drawbacks of that, but I also see the benefits. If I were to allow myself to perpetually swim in the emotional stew prompted by life and the world we find ourselves living in these days, I’d swift become a basket case. And ain’t nobody got time for that.
Festivus in March
Consequently, I’ve not really allowed myself the luxury of dipping deeply into the feels of The COVID Times, but as we hit the five-year anniversary of that scourge, I’m going to indulge it and air my grievances — we’ll call this “Festivus in March.”
To begin, I have to go back a bit further. The fall of 2019 was a tough one. My Dad’s health was rapidly declining…
