Shelter in Place
Well, here we are.
Here I am, there you are, and folks keep telling us we're all in this together though we're about as far apart as we can possibly be. None of us expected to be here, in this situation. But some slippery chunk of genetic material got weird with a few overly-excitable proteins and they found a home in our lungs and here we are.
So now what? I'm here, you're there, what are we supposed to do now?
Now we listen to the wisdom of our forefathers. Wait, no, let's not do that. I mean, there's nothing wrong with our forefathers (or our foremothers, for that matter), but they're as clueless as the rest of us when it comes to a virus that literally did not exist in humans six months ago. Here's another idea. Let's listen to the wisdom of a guy who's never really held a steady job in his entire life, a guy who mostly just sits alone in a room and makes stuff up. Let's listen to Neil Gaiman:
“Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art.”
We can do that. We DID do that. You were there, I was here, but we were all doing the same thing together. We made good art. We dug inside our heads and hearts and we made good art. We took the limitations imposed on us by a tiny spiky bubble of concentrated nastiness, and we made good art. We looked that virus right in the eye (I know, I know, just play along) and told it to fill its boots and step aside, and we made good art.
So here we are. Maybe we didn't want to be here, but I'm glad we're here together. Wash your hands.