Column: A sanctuary of stress


It’s better to be outside. You don’t live in Alaska to wear out recliners. Well, at least you shouldn’t. But I feel like complaining about being in quarantine though I’m healthy, is making it about me which seems pretty greasy.

Just because I haven’t left home since I arrived back in Ketchikan from a trip to California, doesn’t mean I’m suffering. It’s quiet, but an inconvenience at the most. There is no suffering. I have a buddy who is shopping for me which has cut into my chips and guacamole obsession I wasn’t fully aware of until being deprived of the opportunity to impulse buy. Those items, among others, never made my shopping list, but seemed to always make it home to the fridge.

Anyway, while information is power, it is also manipulative. The first few days back home I found myself ping-ponging back between recovery and economic ruin, it’s just a really bad flu and it’s going to kill us all. It’s not that I went looking for it, it’s that all trails lead there.

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