I am suddenly noticing, Gentle Reader, how alike are the words postmortem and postmodern. I will leave that one for your darling little imaginations to process, my ducks.
So, Prime Minister Junior doesn't think that we should be going outside at all, no matter how seductive the beckonings of this burgeoning season of spring. He doesn't want anyone to get sick. Worse, he doesn't want any asymptomatic vectors of the dreaded virus to be marauding outdoors to infect the general populace. Um, does anyone really know that the mortality rate for this covid 19 is less than 2 percent? AIDS, pre-retrovirals, was a death sentence. If you were diagnosed, there was a 100 percent chance that you would be pushing up daisies before your nephew could finish his graduate degree.
I'm going outside. With so many people cowering inside their bunkers there is a lot of room on these streets and in parks to happily maintain the physical distancing. In fact, you might be the only one out there...except...
It turns out I'm not the only one. There are more people out walking these days. In Stanley Park. In Shaughnessy Heights. They still aren't crowded, but we're all engaged in that nervous neurotic folk dance also called social or physical distancing. No one wants to get sick. No one wants to infect others. A lot of us could be asymptomatic vectors of the virus. Everyone is frightened. Me, not exactly, but one can only be immune for so long to collective dread before becoming themselves infected. By fear.
There are two things I have to go out for today: I want to buy decaffeinated coffee and a mouse for my laptop. They are not things that I need right away, but it's a beautiful day, and I want to go out. I will go out anyway,. It's a beautiful day, and I will not be afraid.
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