Days of the Virus: Blursday

What Fassbinder film is it?

The one-armed man comes into the flower shop and says: "What flower expresses, 'Days go by, and they just keep going by endlessly, endlessly pulling you into the future. Days go by endlessly, endlessly pulling you into the future?'"

And the florist says: "White Lily."
- Laurie Anderson, "White Lily," from Home of the Brave

Someone I was talking to the other day said, by way of explaining his loss of focus, "...because it's Blursday."  Even for me, as someone who is fortunate enough to have a regular work schedule, the days are blurring together.  I might know it's Thursday because of the patients I see on that day, but somehow the Thursdays -- and Mondays and Saturdays, etc. -- are much harder to distinguish from each other than prior to quarantine.

Quarantine and social isolation are hard on us for at least the following reasons.  First and foremost, we are social animals; being forced to be apart from each other reveals this to a degree impossible to appreciate when in each other's regular and free company.  Even more introverted folks, when separated from their trusted others, suffer.  Too, the loss of structure and routine, especially for those out of work, can be disorienting and thus emotionally burdensome.

What stands out for me, though, is the loss of novelty.  Away from home, we have more we can do -- go to the gym, go out for dinner, go for a walk or a drive, go (somewhere else) to work.  Yes, we can workout at home, cook for ourselves, walk around our yard or neighborhood, but even a large and ideally-equipped home can only replace so much of The World, no matter how small a piece of it we typically wander in.

Perhaps more importantly, I hadn't noticed before how much variations in my routine that arose just out of interacting with other humans, even strangers, adds to my sense of the passage of time and so to my sense of existence.  One day I am able to get right up to the stoplight at Perring Parkway and Taylor Avenue on my commute; another day, I'm stuck behind someone playing with their phone when it turns green.  One day, a suite mate's patients fill the lobby and I greet them as I navigate through, while another it's empty and I stay in my thoughts.  One evening, my wife and I strike up a conversation with other folks waiting for a table at a restaurant, another we keep to ourselves.  Even my two-block walk to the gym after work varies depending on who else is on the sidewalk and traffic on the busy street I have to cross.

My relationship with my wife and mom has deepened in this time we've shared together, appreciating each other more and more for what we contribute to each other and how precious we are to each other, but our day to day life changes very little and the domestic stage on which it is currently playing out almost not at all.  We three wear our daily paths and deviate from them only slightly and rarely, simply because there are so few randomizing forces to influence our vectors.  Impetus from ourselves to do something different can only be so effective because it comes from ourselves.  We need outsiders to knock us off our trajectories and cause us to course-correct:  without them, we have no markers by which to track the passing of time. 

For now, our interactions with strangers must remain restricted to waving in gratitude through the door at delivery folks and hello to neighbors in our respective lots.  I work to increase the novelty in my life by being creative where I can, trying out new things, home improvement, etc.  Sometimes the best I can muster is finding whatever fits through the fiber optic cable.  I remain very fortunate -- safe, secure, with an income, healthy -- and very aware of the plight of those much less blessed than me.  My challenge is to stay well enough, mentally and physically, to be able to continue to care for my family in our time of collective isolation, so I fight Blursday with novelty.