Cabin Fever

I think my cabin fever is up to about 105 degrees by now, and if I were years younger, I can see where I might just say, “The hell with it; I’m going out!” I used to think the long weeks of winter up North gave me cabin fever, but even up there winter doesn’t last for nearly a year, and if the roads were clear enough, I could gird my loins (or at least put on a lot of clothes) and go out — to the mall, to the “Y,” to a friend’s house. I have a cousin who’s birthday is in February, and we used to plan a cousins’ lunch (that cousin and her sister and my sister and me) tentatively for the Saturday closest to her birthday, weather permitting. One year, it snowed every Saturday until March, I think, and we ended up celebrating her birthday well after the event, but it was the first nice Saturday closest to her birthday.

So I guess this must be harder for people who have never been snowbound for six months of the year. I was used to having plans cancelled or postponed due to weather, plans made “depending on what the weather is.” It must be harder for people who were always free to go where they wanted when they wanted without even thinking about it. At least I’ve had some practice.

But “practice makes perfect” doesn’t seem to work in the current situation. The longer this pandemic shuts us in, the worse it gets. Spring will come, and that will help; we’ll be able to meet outside again. There’s an Easter Egg hunt coming up that I’ll be comfortable going to (weather permitting), and I’ll get to spend more time with my kids and grand kids when we can stay outside. That’s…