I don’t mean to boast off the bat but you’re about to read a piece written by someone who was recently “hailed” as a “breakthrough.” The reviews are in and they are all positive. Of course, by “reviews” I mean a PCR test.
For those of you who may be confused by the above facetiousness, let me explain in lay-they’s terms: your girl tested positive for COVID-19.
As of this writing, it’s been eight days since I have been physically touched by another human. I understand and I respect that it’s the price I have to pay; I’m just saying it gets to be a bit lonely when you’re the only spoon in the drawer. I’ve also spent this time coming up with idioms that don’t make sense, like “being the only spoon in the drawer.”
It’s been an emotional rollercoaster, mostly because I did not realize I was in line for said emotional ride and partly because I’m naturally neurotic. Now, it would be very remiss of me not to acknowledge how fortunate I am that my bout of COVID was not worse and that’s on Moderna, y’all. Not throwing shade at the J&J and Pfizzy folks; I’m here for the Vaccination Persuasion, all day. I am, however, going to throw praise at the queen of country and funding, Dolly Parton. You see, while two old, rich white dudes spent millions of dollars on a galactic dick-swinging competition, The Iron Butterfly funded Moderna’s coronavirus vaccine and subsequently saved millions upon millions of people.
“Whatever you need to do, you gotta get it done, however many hours it takes,” Parton said about funding the vaccine, as well as what it’s like being a boss ass bitch, I assume.
2021 is 66.6% complete and I can’t help but ask myself every day, if not multiple times in one day, “What the fuck is actually going on?” There is nuance with each internal inquiry but the general theme is consistent — I’m over this shit and this shit won’t be over anytime soon. My time in isolation has been reflective and has certainly put some things into perspective, but I am overwhelmed by the uncertainty. The only thing that I’m fairly certain about is that in a week, I will be the closest thing to a superhuman whose power is the low-probability of getting COVID-19 in the next five to seven months. It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s “Smokes A lot of Weed Girl!” (Working title.)
So what’s on deck for the remaining 33.4% of this year? No idea. I feel an odd sense of comfort knowing whatever may come my way, it won’t involve me in school or me as a parent with a child in school. It is a truly baffling sight to see and lately, the “sight” has been abundant: impassioned parents across the country (but mostly Florida) screaming at their school board about masks. Just last week, a school board meeting in a suburban Tennessee county went from zero to fucking bonkers as grown adults had child-like meltdowns both inside and outside of the proceedings. At one point, a group of men surrounded the vehicle of a doctor who had spoken in favor of the mask mandate and proceeded to scream, “We know who you are. You can leave freely, but we will find you.”
This bears repeating: What the fuck is actually going on?
There’s a strange irony in situations like the one in Tennessee. Crazy ma’s and pa’s protesting masks in the name of their children’s “rights/mental health/whatever helps them sleep at night,” but all that seems to go out the window when a young woman is shamed, reprimanded and/or suspended for wearing spaghetti straps or yoga pants. “WE WILL NEVER COVER OUR CHILDREN’S FACES IN ORDER TO PROTECT THEM AND THE PEOPLE AROUND THEM FROM A DEADLY VIRUS! We will, however, zip these flapping lips when a creepy school administrator looks at a 15-year-old’s cleavage and decides to sexualize her, shame her and probably cause a lil’ bit-o-trauma. Rules are rules!”
We all remember the phrase about choosing your battles wisely, right? The past couple years, though, I’m getting the impression that a good chunk of folks have forgotten about the “wisely” part and replaced it with “thoughtlessly and in an unnecessarily combative manner.” Ain’t that America? Perhaps the silver lining of all this shit is the opportunity to pick and choose the people you give your energy to wisely, as well as the chance to ride this year out in a “shrug pose” (yes, like the emoji) and give ‘er another go in 2022.
I eagerly await the day I can spit in your mouths again, like the good ol’ days. Until then, stay safe and sane, my friends.
Sabrina Ambra is a co-host of Real Radio 104.1’s “News Junkie” program and stand-up comedian.
