This may be the only January during which I do not repeatedly write last year’s date on all outgoing checks and permission slips. There will be no need to cross out ‘2020,’ because I am ready to move on. Though my family has been fortunate to avoid contracting coronavirus thus far, there were approximately seven to 25 different occasions (dating back to November of 2019) when I was convinced we had it. The paranoid hypochondriac in me has been working in overdrive for far too long, wreaking havoc on my cortisol levels. My “fight or flight” reactions are completely fried, since the option to flee anywhere has been a no-go.
This seems like a small price to pay for getting through last year mostly unscathed, though I suspected 2020 still had something up its sleeve for me as we rounded out this turbulent year.