Does every day seem like Wednesday to you?
It never feels like the beginning of the week any more. Or, the end.
It just feels like some nebulous place that is neither here nor there.
It seems, as Wednesdays actually are, as far away from the weekend as you can get. Far away from nights out, restaurants, concerts, day hikes, farmers’ markets. Baseball.
Just one big endless Wednesday.
I have so few routines that haven’t been upended in some way in the past two months.
I rarely check the clock anymore, and I am often surprised when I do.
“It’s 9:30? How did it get to be 9:30?”
“Two o’clock already? I guess I forgot to have lunch.”
Some would say this is a good thing. That being untied to a clock or calendar is a reprieve from the demands of artificial time.
But, I like being tied. I like being needed. I like having something to do. Somewhere to be.
I miss this.
According to a new Gallup poll, 59 percent of Americans reported that they worried “a lot” back in March when this mess unfurled. Just 47 percent now.
In that poll, 72 percent of Americans reported being happy “a lot of the day yesterday.” That’s a five-percent increase from late March.
Am I happier?
Well, it’s 10 a.m. and I’m still in my pajamas, still enjoying my morning coffee.
So, there is that.
I suppose we’ve gotten more used to things. Those things that seemed weird, unworkable, abnormal, and frustrating in March are much easier today.
Even Editor/Husband, who often considers technology overrated, can Zoom a meeting on our wonky and unreliable internet. I’ve learned to create and upload audio Yoga classes, teaching to an empty room. I know more about audio engineering and compressing MP3’s than I ever expected.
I’ve watched Korean baseball and it’s oddly comforting. (Cheerleaders on top of the dugouts, though? Very strange.)
Am I happy with all that?
Is being relieved the same thing as being happy?
Maybe the question is this … just how resilient are we? How much “new normal” can there be before we notice how much “old normal” can’t be rejiggered into something that’s kinda-sorta acceptable?
I mean, sure, our lives are upended in so many ways. But, look at how much we’ve figured out.
Today’s new normal is newer than mid-April’s “new normal,” which is now the old-new normal, not to be confused with the older-old-new normal of late March, which is nothing like the old-old-old normal from before this entire mess began.
Today’s new normal will be the old-new normal soon enough. Maybe by tomorrow.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve dealt far better than I thought I would.
But, I still miss baseball.
Although, if the new season does come, I won’t miss the spitting.
Because no more spitting is just one item buried inside 67 pages of restrictions and changes that Major League Baseball is proposing.
No more spitting, sunflower seeds, tobacco. No more high fives, fist-bumps, hugs. Six feet of social distancing and masks will be required when sitting in the dugout, but, of course, not while standing on base.
Is it worth all that to get baseball back?
It sort of annoys me that Major League Baseball issued their directive like this: “Look everybody! We’re willing to play ball. We typed up 67 pages of how we can do it. If the players and their union reject it, it’s their fault. Blame them. We tried to bring baseball back to America.”
That bothers me. Why blame the players if they are unwilling to put themselves or their families at risk?
I wear a mask when I go out in public, not because I have to – I’m not required to. I wear it because I believe it is in my own interest, but also in the interest of the community. I don’t want to expose myself, Editor/Husband, or our three cats to infection. And, I don’t want to expose you to infection either.
If the players aren’t comfortable with the safety protocols that Major League Baseball has offered, why shouldn’t I respect that?
Am I willing to give up baseball for awhile?
That’s all I wanted to say. That I’m willing to wait.
I miss baseball. But, not so much that I want anyone to feel that they or their family is at risk.
I can wait.
Patience, like endless Wednesdays, has become one of my new normals.
Waiting, Wistfully, Wednesday’fully Yours, The Baseball Bloggess