Fraught
I responded to a Tweet the 16th that asked what mundane thing you missed from pre-COVID.
I miss going to Powell’s Bookstore and browsing. Really, any bookstore, but I recently had a wave of longing to sit at a table in World Cup Coffee, the place in the corner of the first floor of Powell's, and peruse books I'm considering purchasing while watching people.
Just the joy of walking along the tall stacks to see what jumped out at me. To look for bargains among the used and remaindered titles.
I then expanded my comment to say that really any shopping where I could just casually browse without being hypervigilant for people too close to me. Without worry that some white woman is going to pull her mask down because she just has to open up a bottle of lotion and smell it (recently seen at a New Seasons Market), the bro who just has to get his poke and gets too damn close, or the elder woman who bumps into three people on her way down a narrow aisle.
Complex Trauma means I'm always a little vigilant about people in my personal space, much less touching me. COVID has taken what was a little tickle of irritation and turned it into a bullhorn. Robot yelling, "Danger! Danger!"
The past couple of days were shopping days. I often come home from them and just lay across the bed for a little while. What was once something that could be a pleasant diversion and has made it an exhausting chore fraught with strong emotions.
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