It’s Time to Whine

I don’t want to whine, but…okay, I do want to whine. And yes, I would like cheese with my whine. I am sick of Covid. I’m sick of staying in lock down. I am sick of going nowhere, because there is nowhere to go, other than the grocery store, which scares me because there are too many people. I have been vaccinated since last October, because I was in the test group for the Moderna vaccine. I just found out a couple of weeks ago that I was one of the 50% that got the actual vaccine. My husband just got his second shot. We’re safe. But we’re not safe. We still have to avoid crowds, stay masked, and keep the hand sanitizer “on hand.” I am so bored, I could scream.

Netflix is wonderful. I watch it on my computer, but I can watch it on the TV, too, when my husband isn’t watching battling robots or “Naked and Afraid” or some home improvement show. I get up in the morning and check my e-mail, deleting about 50, while there might be one that’s interesting. I go to Facebook, which is boring now that the administration has changed, and there’s not something to raise my blood pressure every day. I check my bank account to see if my relief check or my tax refund has come in. So far, nothing, leaving me broke.

Then I try to plan to do something “worthwhile,” like a load of laundry or vacuum or mop or clean something, so I feel industrious. Where did I get the idea I have to do something worthwhile every day to earn my keep, deserve my life? Is that some holdover from my childhood? One of my marriages? I would like to get rid of it. I’m 69 years old. I worked for 34…