{"id":456,"date":"2020-04-01T07:00:31","date_gmt":"2020-04-01T14:00:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/janetcrum.com\/?p=456"},"modified":"2023-01-11T08:37:06","modified_gmt":"2023-01-11T15:37:06","slug":"were-all-fine-here-now-thank-you-how-are-you","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/janetalcorn.com\/staging\/1364\/2020\/04\/01\/were-all-fine-here-now-thank-you-how-are-you\/","title":{"rendered":"We&#8217;re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-embed is-type-video is-provider-youtube wp-block-embed-youtube wp-embed-aspect-16-9 wp-has-aspect-ratio\"><div class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"Star Wars   A New Hope   We&#039;re all fine here now\" width=\"960\" height=\"540\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/3bjEpLoL0ls?feature=oembed\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe>\n<\/div><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p>How are you holding up?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Y&#8217;all doing okay?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Going crazy yet?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>These are the standard greetings in the Coronazoic age. And now it&#8217;s the monthly <a href=\"https:\/\/www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com\/p\/iwsg-sign-up.html\">IWSG<\/a> question: <b>In this time when our world is in crisis with the covid-19 pandemic, our optional question this month is: how are things in your world? <\/b>(Want to see some other great IWSG posts? Check out the list of participants&nbsp;<a href=\"https:\/\/www.linkytools.com\/wordpress_list.aspx?id=103850&amp;type=basic\">here<\/a>. (Powered by Linky Tools)<b><br><\/b><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>So, how am I? I&#8217;m fine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I&#8217;m a homebody by nature, and I&#8217;m very good at entertaining myself. So for the most part, I&#8217;m one of those annoying people that get ridiculed regularly in quarantine memes. I&#8217;m working at home&#8211;productively&#8211;and making time for professional development. I&#8217;m writing regularly, cooking from scratch, reading, getting adequate sleep on a regular schedule, taking walks outside, and working in my garden. Hell, I&#8217;m exercising more than I have in years. I think it must be quarantine-induced insanity, but I&#8217;ve become obsessed with my step count and hyper-competitive in the FitBit Workweek Hustle challenge I participate in with co-workers. As I write this, it&#8217;s not quite 2 PM, and I have over 10,000 steps. But I&#8217;m not in first place&#8211;damn you, Sue B.&#8211;so I need to find a way to blog and walk at the same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I&#8217;m also more relaxed than I&#8217;ve been in at least two decades. Call it quarantine if you want. I&#8217;m calling it an extended retreat or maybe a sabbatical.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>So, yeah, I&#8217;m doing just fine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When I lie in bed at night after a long day of productivity and feeding the FitBit, I look at my husband and wonder if I&#8217;ll lose him to this damn disease. Or if he&#8217;ll lose me. If our son will lose a parent. Or (please, God, no) both parents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I read about someone younger than me dying of this thing, and I feel the tube in my throat, hear the rasp of the ventilator. Or feel the air hunger as I gasp on a gurney in a hospital hallway, because there are no ICU beds and no ventilators.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I should make a list of all our accounts and insurance policies with passwords and contact information, so if I go, my husband and son will know what to do. But I don&#8217;t do that. I can&#8217;t do that. Because I am a coward, and if I do that, I will have to face the possibility such an act implies. And I can&#8217;t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Better get some more steps in instead. Gotta catch up to Sue B. Does that woman ever sit down?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I contemplate the next few months&#8211;or years&#8211;and I remember my father&#8217;s stories of growing up during the Great Depression. Of going to bed hungry. Of squabbling with his siblings over the last chicken foot. Because that&#8217;s what the children got: the feet. The adults were working to help the family survive and needed the meatier pieces so they would have the strength to keep going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Please, God, don&#8217;t let my son have to live like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I look at my friends list on Facebook and wonder whose page will become a memorial. Whose family will grieve. Whose spark of life will disappear from the world forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And I take another walk or pick up a book or watch another webinar until the blanket of denial is thick enough to shield me from the possibilities I cannot bear to face.&nbsp;I lounge in an oversized Def Leppard t-shirt and grease-stained yoga pants, fashion icon that I am, and grasp at whatever I can reach to keep the fear at bay, to retain some sense of control in a world running further off the rails with every presidential press conference.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>How am I doing? I&#8217;m fine. We&#8217;re all fine here, now, thank you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>How are you?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>How are you holding up? Y&#8217;all doing okay? Going crazy yet? These are the standard greetings in the Coronazoic age. And now it&#8217;s the monthly IWSG question: In this time when our world is in crisis with the covid-19 pandemic, our optional question this month is: how are things in your world? (Want to see some other great IWSG posts? Check out the list of participants&nbsp;here. (Powered by Linky Tools) So, how am I? I&#8217;m fine. I&#8217;m a homebody by nature, and I&#8217;m very good at entertaining myself. So for the most part, I&#8217;m one of those annoying people that get ridiculed regularly in quarantine memes. I&#8217;m working at home&#8211;productively&#8211;and making time for professional development. I&#8217;m writing regularly, cooking from scratch, reading, getting adequate sleep on a regular schedule, taking walks outside, and working in my garden. Hell, I&#8217;m exercising more than I have in years. I think it must be quarantine-induced insanity, but I&#8217;ve become obsessed with my step count and hyper-competitive in the FitBit Workweek Hustle challenge I participate in with co-workers. As I write this, it&#8217;s not quite 2 PM, and I have over 10,000 steps. But I&#8217;m not in first place&#8211;damn you, Sue B.&#8211;so I need to find a way to blog and walk at the same time. I&#8217;m also more relaxed than I&#8217;ve been in at least two decades. Call it quarantine if you want. I&#8217;m calling it an extended retreat or maybe a sabbatical. So, yeah, I&#8217;m doing just fine. But. When I lie in bed at night after a long day of productivity and feeding the FitBit, I look at my husband and wonder if I&#8217;ll lose him to this damn disease. Or if he&#8217;ll lose me. If our son will lose a parent. Or (please, God, no) both parents. I read about someone younger than me dying of this thing, and I feel the tube in my throat, hear the rasp of the ventilator. Or feel the air hunger as I gasp on a gurney in a hospital hallway, because there are no ICU beds and no ventilators. I should make a list of all our accounts and insurance policies with passwords and contact information, so if I go, my husband and son will know what to do. But I don&#8217;t do that. I can&#8217;t do that. Because I am a coward, and if I do that, I will have to face the possibility such an act implies. And I can&#8217;t. Better get some more steps in instead. Gotta catch up to Sue B. Does that woman ever sit down? I contemplate the next few months&#8211;or years&#8211;and I remember my father&#8217;s stories of growing up during the Great Depression. Of going to bed hungry. Of squabbling with his siblings over the last chicken foot. Because that&#8217;s what the children got: the feet. The adults were working to help the family survive and needed the meatier pieces so they would have the strength to keep going. Please, God, don&#8217;t let my son have to live like that. I look at my friends list on Facebook and wonder whose page will become a memorial. Whose family will grieve. Whose spark of life will disappear from the world forever. And I take another walk or pick up a book or watch another webinar until the blanket of denial is thick enough to shield me from the possibilities I cannot bear to face.&nbsp;I lounge in an oversized Def Leppard t-shirt and grease-stained yoga pants, fashion icon that I am, and grasp at whatever I can reach to keep the fear at bay, to retain some sense of control in a world running further off the rails with every presidential press conference. How am I doing? I&#8217;m fine. We&#8217;re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"cybocfi_hide_featured_image":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[11,13],"tags":[395],"class_list":["post-456","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-iwsg","category-personal","tag-pandemic"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>We&#039;re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you? - Janet Alcorn<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/janetalcorn.com\/staging\/1364\/2020\/04\/01\/were-all-fine-here-now-thank-you-how-are-you\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"We&#039;re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you? - Janet Alcorn\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"How are you holding up? Y&#8217;all doing okay? Going crazy yet? These are the standard greetings in the Coronazoic age. And now it&#8217;s the monthly IWSG question: In this time when our world is in crisis with the covid-19 pandemic, our optional question this month is: how are things in your world? (Want to see some other great IWSG posts? Check out the list of participants&nbsp;here. (Powered by Linky Tools) So, how am I? I&#8217;m fine. I&#8217;m a homebody by nature, and I&#8217;m very good at entertaining myself. So for the most part, I&#8217;m one of those annoying people that get ridiculed regularly in quarantine memes. I&#8217;m working at home&#8211;productively&#8211;and making time for professional development. I&#8217;m writing regularly, cooking from scratch, reading, getting adequate sleep on a regular schedule, taking walks outside, and working in my garden. Hell, I&#8217;m exercising more than I have in years. I think it must be quarantine-induced insanity, but I&#8217;ve become obsessed with my step count and hyper-competitive in the FitBit Workweek Hustle challenge I participate in with co-workers. As I write this, it&#8217;s not quite 2 PM, and I have over 10,000 steps. But I&#8217;m not in first place&#8211;damn you, Sue B.&#8211;so I need to find a way to blog and walk at the same time. I&#8217;m also more relaxed than I&#8217;ve been in at least two decades. Call it quarantine if you want. I&#8217;m calling it an extended retreat or maybe a sabbatical. So, yeah, I&#8217;m doing just fine. But. When I lie in bed at night after a long day of productivity and feeding the FitBit, I look at my husband and wonder if I&#8217;ll lose him to this damn disease. Or if he&#8217;ll lose me. If our son will lose a parent. Or (please, God, no) both parents. I read about someone younger than me dying of this thing, and I feel the tube in my throat, hear the rasp of the ventilator. Or feel the air hunger as I gasp on a gurney in a hospital hallway, because there are no ICU beds and no ventilators. I should make a list of all our accounts and insurance policies with passwords and contact information, so if I go, my husband and son will know what to do. But I don&#8217;t do that. I can&#8217;t do that. Because I am a coward, and if I do that, I will have to face the possibility such an act implies. And I can&#8217;t. Better get some more steps in instead. Gotta catch up to Sue B. Does that woman ever sit down? I contemplate the next few months&#8211;or years&#8211;and I remember my father&#8217;s stories of growing up during the Great Depression. Of going to bed hungry. Of squabbling with his siblings over the last chicken foot. Because that&#8217;s what the children got: the feet. The adults were working to help the family survive and needed the meatier pieces so they would have the strength to keep going. Please, God, don&#8217;t let my son have to live like that. I look at my friends list on Facebook and wonder whose page will become a memorial. Whose family will grieve. Whose spark of life will disappear from the world forever. And I take another walk or pick up a book or watch another webinar until the blanket of denial is thick enough to shield me from the possibilities I cannot bear to face.&nbsp;I lounge in an oversized Def Leppard t-shirt and grease-stained yoga pants, fashion icon that I am, and grasp at whatever I can reach to keep the fear at bay, to retain some sense of control in a world running further off the rails with every presidential press conference. How am I doing? I&#8217;m fine. We&#8217;re all fine here, now, thank you. 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So for the most part, I&#8217;m one of those annoying people that get ridiculed regularly in quarantine memes. I&#8217;m working at home&#8211;productively&#8211;and making time for professional development. I&#8217;m writing regularly, cooking from scratch, reading, getting adequate sleep on a regular schedule, taking walks outside, and working in my garden. Hell, I&#8217;m exercising more than I have in years. I think it must be quarantine-induced insanity, but I&#8217;ve become obsessed with my step count and hyper-competitive in the FitBit Workweek Hustle challenge I participate in with co-workers. As I write this, it&#8217;s not quite 2 PM, and I have over 10,000 steps. But I&#8217;m not in first place&#8211;damn you, Sue B.&#8211;so I need to find a way to blog and walk at the same time. I&#8217;m also more relaxed than I&#8217;ve been in at least two decades. Call it quarantine if you want. I&#8217;m calling it an extended retreat or maybe a sabbatical. So, yeah, I&#8217;m doing just fine. But. When I lie in bed at night after a long day of productivity and feeding the FitBit, I look at my husband and wonder if I&#8217;ll lose him to this damn disease. Or if he&#8217;ll lose me. If our son will lose a parent. Or (please, God, no) both parents. I read about someone younger than me dying of this thing, and I feel the tube in my throat, hear the rasp of the ventilator. Or feel the air hunger as I gasp on a gurney in a hospital hallway, because there are no ICU beds and no ventilators. I should make a list of all our accounts and insurance policies with passwords and contact information, so if I go, my husband and son will know what to do. But I don&#8217;t do that. I can&#8217;t do that. Because I am a coward, and if I do that, I will have to face the possibility such an act implies. And I can&#8217;t. Better get some more steps in instead. Gotta catch up to Sue B. Does that woman ever sit down? 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