Time has warped. Paradoxically, during the pandemic, it seems to be going both slower and faster.
The mid-March lockdown feels like an eternity ago. Yet those nearly four months have blurred into speeded up sameness, punctuated by well, nothing.
I feel off balance even before the daily death tolls that bring a guilty elation because fewer Canadians have died. But they are still dying, and every day brings a new litany of COVID-induced distress.
And there is my unmitigated anger over unnecessary deaths in countries like the United States where people are too self-absorbed, too stupid or too vain to take precautions for the good of others.
In the beginning, the challenge of living during a pandemic was oddly invigorating. It opened the opportunity for changing patterns, thinking differently, learning new things. How else to explain the sourdough rush?
The nightly pot-banging made strangers into neighbours. There was that initial, bracing belief that we are all in this together. Of course, soon enough it became obvious that we arent, and that people who were at the margins before are most at risk of losing their lives, their livelihoods and their homes.read more
Daphne Bramham: Can we please get to the new normal soon?
