As The Cuckoo Is In June

This lockdown hasn't really been much of a lockdown, even though omicron is by all indicators looking to match or pass the overall population infection rates of its antecedents in the Hellenized naming schema of COVID variants. There may be some variation in the virulence, but that seems like an academic point among the vaccine-receptive. For the American Prophylaxis Freedom Caucus, the effect overall likely matches their insensitivity to classical alphabets as a concept, meaning they get just a sick with omicron as delta as... whatever the earlier ones have been retroactively grecio-classified, taxing and monopolizing hospital beds and other medical response infrastructure to the point where the experience differs from the last the way a Mario differs from a Luigi: the same sprite, differing only in a few pixels of the most superficial decoration.

And yet there is no admonition to stay at home, pitting us again against All Other Humans in a round of game theory writ large. The mask mandates have reappeared with some force. I was denied access to indoor seating in a restaurant this week because I didn't have proof of vaccination,* but the controversy was solved by agreeing to (completely covered and enclosed) "outdoor" seating instead. The burden of the response barely rises to inconvenient, let alone the onerous levels of the Dark Times. I can see and feel some circumspection, but nothing like the proscription and sequestration that drove so many of us into the demon's embrace of sourdough bread-making.

So we remain sensate, engaged, tangible to our commune and our compatriots, which is of itself a comfort. We've gained a couple of things here: 1) a vaccine, for those of us sensible enough to avail ourselves; 2) the weary patience to know that we can survive the presence of still-endimicity-shy COVID and all its children and 3) the resigned confidence to not fear the anticipation of harsher strictures, since we've already survived it once. Are these awesome things to know about ourselves? Yes and no, I suppose. It's a resolve you can't know exists until its birthed in the pressure (in whatever closeness we've experienced it) of present mortality, so you know, we've got that going for us I guess, but I can't really think of anyone who would trade the glint of that steel for the squishy, blithe naïveté of 2018. There was a time when people genuinely gave a shit when Roseanne got fired from Roseanne. We were all sweet summer children once.

If another lockdown comes, it'll be fine. I've already figured out DoorDash, which is saying something for a 47-year-old man facing down a new app (we do not talk about the TikTok Incident, everyone). I've already watched all the YouTube videos about how to wash my hands properly. I know I don't have to bleach the groceries. And I know there's nothing I can do to stop people from hoarding toilet paper, bread, pasta and rice (formerly) or (for some reason) Diet Coke and bottled iced tea (currently), so there's always a workaround. 

Without the panic of the unknown, there's some ease in the exhaustion, maybe even some zen in there somewhere. If the gym closes again, I can always go back to the walk every day. It's the same path in the same neighborhood, but never the same character, not exactly. It's a lovely on its own, but the view changes day to day based on weather, on the position of the sun in the sky, on the pollution levels, on my mood... We've all seen a hundred reboots and remakes and remastering, so we know from hard experience** a scene can mean something entirely different with small changes in blocking and lighting.

It's enlightenment still, even if it starts with an eyeroll and a sigh.

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*I actually did, but I didn't know I could have used a picture of my vaccination card on my phone. It seems way too easy to fake or borrow from someone else.

**This was going to be a joke about some specific recent retooling of some retread intellectual property, but at this point it feels redundant to pile on the Sex and the City folks.