The Last Word On Nothing

In Washington, D.C., in winter, a lot of horrible things fall out of the sky. We sometimes get a good honest snowfall. But usually it’s something worse – some godforsaken blend of snow and rain and ice and sleet that coats everything and makes you not want to attempt to stand on any hard surface or really to go outdoors at all.

As I’m writing this, it’s early afternoon on Sunday and nothing has started to fall yet. I took an overdue check out to the mailbox this morning. I don’t plan to go out again.

Of course, weather isn’t the only strong excuse not to go anywhere right now. There’s also the Omicron surge.

Last weekend I realized that the feeling I was having, of being unwilling to go anywhere or doing anything, wasn’t some weird manifestation of depression or something; it was the pandemic. It was the same feeling I had last winter, when I wasn’t vaccinated yet and any encounter with the virus could have meant death. It’s less scary now – I’m vaccinated and boosted, and so are my parents and most of my friends – but I still don’t want to get COVID.

Once I’d realized that, I could pivot to my pandemic-winter coping skills – there’s a skill set we didn’t know we’d be acquiring, two years ago – and set up plans. Zoom plans. I’m doing Zoom art again. Saturday night I hosted a Zoom knitting group. We all showed off our projects and exclaimed about how we had thought we were all Zoomed out, but here we were, so happy to see each other, even on screens.

I hope the hints we’re hearing about Omicron are right, that it will settle down soon and I’ll feel comfortable breathing around other people again.

For now, here I sit, on a Sunday afternoon. My phone tells me it’s 22 degrees outside. The Capital Weather Gang tells me to expect “dangerous road conditions late this afternoon as snow changes to ice.” Don’t worry, Capital Weather Gang. I’m not going anywhere.

Photo: Kate Ramsayer