Covid-addled thoughts
A friend who’s had every strain of Covid but the first said she’s convinced I currently have the second strain.
Great. Four years since the pandemic from hell started, and Miss Rona finally got me.
I gave it to Mom, too. So it’s been a fun couple weeks in this house.
We think she had the earliest version, as someone in the office had it and we used the same Bloomberg terminal, and I think I was a carrier.
Anyway, the pandemic might have been good for some people. Some of their businesses thrived. Some of them started new businesses.
I don’t know that all pandemic-related businesses can or will survive, though. The things we needed then (like self-checkout) are being limited, removed entirely and/or we’re being charged for the convenience of not having bleach thrown on top of our bread.
But I do know that the effects of long Covid are real (and devastating). And I do know that I never thought of myself as someone who would be mentally unhealthy and wildly unproductive. And yet, here we are.
To be fair, a lot of that unproductiveness comes from taking a job with an utter lack of leadership. And then returning to my beloved job with new layers of leadership shoved between me and my best boss.
Also, during this whole pandemic, I’ve been dealing with stuff no one could understand or would even want to. Operating on very little sleep. Having every single small joy ruined by other humans and other unexpected limitations.
I am good at forgiving myself for being wildly distracted, tired and otherwise disgusted with everything.
Here’s hoping my employer continues to show me grace, since I did prove a long time ago that I could work 14-hour days every day for a decade without much complaint.
I think about my mom a lot. She really was the reason I could work so hard and so long. Like, add some long commutes to either end of those days. And plenty of “oh just let me log in for a minute”s that turned into hours.
She literally has been a wife. Made meals. Kept the house immaculate and tastefully decorated. Cared for my kiddos and helped me “love them out” from adoption to the Rainbow Bridge.
These days, I do most of the work. And work I will never speak of that’s unpaid. And I am so so so grateful that I am still gainfully employed.
Many days, like the past 14 with Covid, I’ve been ready to hear from one of the new layers of management to GTFOH. Yet, the fear is not the motivator I thought it would be.
Like, I think about some of those idiotic management layers that have been mercifully stripped away over the years. I always thought, Jeez, you get all this money, fucking act like it matters and show some goddamned leadership.
But maybe, just maybe, I really am lucky and I’m receiving grace and that I am DESERVING of that grace.
I don’t know. I just know that everything is so hard right now. And if I had to start over financially, Christ, how would I even do it. I learned from my short stint elsewhere that I am too groomed for my current environment to survive in any other.
Though, I wonder what a year off, a bona fide year off to take care of things and people and cats, would be like. Albeit without money, yes.
BUT … would it be the pause that refreshes this time (god willing) or would it, like the last several times, just be another fucking stress that kills me further?