Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

I’m trying to blog more often for my own cognitive benefit, but also to chronicle in some way this strange epoch disrupting our lives. We keep using terms like “disruption” as if when the static clears, regular programming will resume. Guess what? The TV blew up, the television station went bankrupt, and you may not be able to pay the electric bill anyway.

I miss restaurants. Obviously, I’d not prioritize that on the COVID-19 recovery priorities – let’s get people healthy, dump Trump and co, and learn some lessons. But personally, the simple experience of going to a restaurant, being seated, ordering, and being served a hot meal sounds heavenly. Not a meal I have to pay exorbitant fees on to some third party vendor who makes it possible to be delivered. Not a meal I have to unpack from all take away containers, transfer to my own serving dishes, wipe everything down, and figure out where to put the extra debris. I’m grateful, but tired of eating like each meal is leftovers night.

I miss conversation with people I know casually, but not too familiar. “How is your cat?” “How is your mum?” “Let me tell you a quick story …” sort of thing.

I miss lingering. We had a meeting yesterday and I purposefully dragged it out because my heart was growing with each bit of dialogue. We stopped at Starbucks and I saw my favorite baristas, but had to adhere to the regimen versus a casual quick conversation. I wanted to run behind the counter and hug them tightly, but that’s generally frowned upon at the best of times.

I miss spontaneity. I miss going to the pool. I miss walking into elevators without doing a head count. I miss the neighborhood Starbucks that is run by the community college and not open ever. I miss our family.

The world has changed in some fundamental way that won’t be clear in my lifetime.

I turn 50 this year. Is my fate somehow tied to this shift in our fault lines?