I’m in shock, and I keep having to remind myself that this is why I’m feeling so disjointed and immobilized.

It’s not like 9-11, but it is. It’s the feeling of my world never being the same again. It’s the feeling of despair because no matter how hard we attack the virus, people are going to die, have already died. It’s different, because it’s not so sudden as 9-11. It comes over me in waves, but not the sudden horrible jerks that happened back in 2001. In the long run, it will be worse, because more people will die, and more of our institutions will be gutted. And the horror is rolling out slowly; there are so many metaphors, some lyrical, some absurd and goofy.

… like watching the beginning of the original Star Wars movie, when that huge Imperial ship looms larger and larger and larger across the top of the screen, immense in a way that you didn’t anticipate, coming after that little ship…

… like watching the tide come in, slowly slowly rising – you can barely see it happen, but it just keeps on coming, and there’s no stopping it…

… like watching the way a toilet bowl which isn’t draining fills slowly, patiently to the top – and you know it’s going to spill over, and you can’t do enough, and you can’t do it fast enough…

… like… like…

Anyway.

I’m functional. I do dishes, cook, clean things, organize, spend time on the computer figuring out unemployment applications, and whether the business will have to pay workman’s comp in four days (yes), and collecting information, tips on surviving this mess. I have cheery “we’ll all get through this together! from six feet apart!” conversations with my mother who is a half a day’s drive away, and in her 80s; I try to feel good about bucking up under the many adjustments. I practice good hand washing, and barrier protection, and social distancing.

But everything takes twice as long, not just because of the extra routines, but because I’m not totally focused. I know I’m not focused, and I’m checking my work twice as much because of that. I made pretty good chicken enchiladas out of leftovers needing to be used up, but totally blew it on the banana bread (it didn’t rise). I’m forgetful, scattered, distracted. My brain isn’t working right.

And when I reach down deep inside and look at what’s brewing down there, I recognize that I’m in shock. Life is drastically changing; I don’t know that I can get back to tattooing, because when will it be safe to do so? In 18 or 20 months (hopefully) when vaccinations are available? I’ll be 63 then, maybe too old to get back into it. And I’m feeling cutoff from my family – my kid is in the midwest, my mom and sister five hours away. Everything is frightening and all my usual support systems are rattled or gone. And all of that clumsy taskwork I’m doing isn’t just crap which needs to get done, it’s a coping mechanism.

I know the things to do. Stay informed, but turn off the news from time to time. Connect with friends as much as I can. Eat. Bathe. Be patient with myself. Go outside, get some air. Let myself be distraught, depressed, frightened, but shake up my activities so I don’t sink into it. Binge watch something goofy and silly. Laugh. Appreciate nature and cute cat videos.

So, I do those things. And it does help. But I don’t believe I can do more than mitigate the shock at how everything has changed, how it’s likely to continue to change. Much like this virus, my hope is to flatten the curve, even things out, move through it with as little damage as possible.

But there will be damage.