Like I Was Saying...
It’s hard adapting to the “new normal.” One is because I miss the old normal, which it turns out, wasn’t so damn bad, hindsight being 20/20, and all.
I would’ve never guessed I’d miss five o’clock traffic. Yes, I’m talking about the stop and go traffic, heading north on Lamar.
For a month, I took the bus to and from work. The bus route went through Lamar. I stopped after I figured taking the bus turned a ten hour day to twelve. Yuck.
Still, instead of taking the freeway, I took Lamar. One reason is because it was visually more interesting than the being “asses to elbows” with other cars on the interstate.
On Lamar I’d see more of the locals: Muslim women with pushing baby carriages, the tall lanky African-American rapper in the Sonic parking lot on Runberg, with a huge microphone and speaker, the tired Mexican maids hauling HEB bags beating the light, the sun beaten white homeless man or woman, who never got the privilege memo. I would soak them all in.
If nothing else, my commute allowed me time to think or process an overwhelming day. I’d debate the major questions I had in mind, always winning, but losing a few times to myself.
There was a serenity in those brake lights. As if those brake lights were God’s way of telling me to slow down. I miss that in this “new normal.”
I still remember mornings wishing I’d work from home. The time I would get back. The stress it would alleviate. The money on gas I’d save. It was a romantic view of life, until it became the norm. When it did, I felt like a Disney Princess the first time Prince Charming let one rip. It wasn’t anything I’d romanticized. Sure, I got some time back, road rage and weariness were a thing of the past, and money saved, but the trade off I didn’t expect. Like missing the people and the visual stimulation of different things. Time moved. Now, not so much.
Add to all this, the “new normal” can be confusing.
To mask or not to mask is the question. Airing how you feel about is about as obvious as pinning a sign in your backyard.
Like wearing a mask while walking through a restaurant, but safe I’m safe when I’m sitting down. Gathering under ten people I’m safer, unless one of those ten has COVID. Try to stay six feet, but passing someone in an aisle in the supermarket, is okay.
Going to Church not okay. Protesting Police or social justice is okay. COVID is conscious of these things.
I live close to Dell Stadium, home of the Round Rock Express. During the summers, after the games (of course, not this year) I can hear the firework show, but not see it. That’s how COVID has been for me.
I’ve know of people who’ve had it. Some suffered through it, but its been old friends and near acquaintances; friends of friends. Nobody I know has died from it. But people have succumb to it.
So I’m trying to adapt to this “new normal.” In doing so, I feel like I’m waking up from from a bad day long hangover in the evening. Trying to get my bearings down and looking at what I can do to salvage the day.
And seeing what the hell to do with this “new normal.”
Boxcars.2020