Going on eight months of dealing with the pandemic, we’re all tired of it.

As an introvert, I guess I can deal with many aspects better than most people.  Staying home isn’t a punishment for me; it’s actually where I’m most comfortable.  There are things that I miss: I haven’t been to my favorite beer garden since mid-June; I haven’t seen my church family since March.  I haven’t eaten inside any restaurant since February.  I haven’t seen my friends in months.

I have been able to see my parents, because I’m not doing those other things.  My dad is gravely ill, and Covid-19 would kill him.  That’s my motivation: if I do everything right, I can still see my mom and dad.  Fortunately, they live close enough that a five-minute car ride, or maybe less than an hour’s walk, and I can be there.

Two days ago, it was time to celebrate my youngest daughter’s birthday.  Delta now lives with us again, as her company went to remote-only, and it made sense for her to move home rather than keep her expensive apartment in Brentwood, TN.  We went for a delightful hike at Frozen Head state park, and were the only people on the trail.

The fatigue, for me, comes from other people — those who don’t take this seriously, don’t wear masks, don’t physically distance, or simply don’t believe that the whole thing is real.  Most of those, I can simply stay away from, and I do.  But because they don’t take the necessary precautions, the numbers continue to rise, people continue to get sick, and everyday life cannot continue as it should.  Most frustrating was a conversation with my mother, who — who knows why — seems to believe that the whole pandemic is a media fabrication designed to get rid of Donald Trump.

I only wish that were true.  Presidents are temporary; death is f-ing permanent.