I feel bad.
Guilty, It can’t be helped, sort of.
I am a sitting duck, according to statistics. I check√√ off all the at-risk boxes on the COVID hit list
√ I am old, according to #coronavirus.
√ I am medically compromised — asthma.
√ I get no sleep. √ I am always stressed. √ I forget not to touch my face.
So I give up. It’s stupid for me to go out, if I can avoid it.
Unfortunately, I am in a fortuitous situaation. My husband doesn’t mind or feel nervous goes out. In fact I think he likes to.
He braves the social vicissitudes, negotiates the various ingenious machinations of doing business (you even call the beer store from the parking lot now).
Most of all he goes to the supermarket — and brings home stuff I love but didn’t even ask him to get.
I am grateful for his sacrifice. If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
I have two passions: animals and words. And I have managed to spend most of my life combining those two lvoes, using words to create awareness, to touch hearts, to help alleviate suffering, and to just make the world a kinder kind of place fdor all living things. I spent more than 30 years as a jo0urnalist at The Bergen Record newspaper, and have t a lifetime een using the power of words to XXX