COVID-19

It's December 2019. The holidays are fast approaching, and you find yourself staring down the same overlong, messy to-do list that you juggle at the end of every year: finishing up that one last big project before your holiday break, buying presents for your loved ones, figuring out the best time to leave on your first day of vacation to avoid traffic on the way to your parents' house... After dinner, you decide to get on your laptop. It was a draining day; you skipped lunch to catch up on work, and you feel like you haven't really had a moment to breathe until now. You'd like to give yourself a break, but you also know you need to pick out presents for your family. [[Get started on your holiday shopping. You meant to do it over the weekend but never got around to it.->ignore1]] [[Clear out your social media notifications. Your brain could really use the break.->news1]]

You let your brain go on autopilot as you click through social media notifications without really reading them. As you're about to navigate away from Twitter, a tweet from a YouTuber you follow catches your eye: James Josh @JJYT 29m This is gonna be BIG: Chinese Doctors Baffled by Mystery Illness @ Daily Courier This guy has always been a little bit of a conspiracy theorist, but the intriguing headline is from a reputable news source. [[Put it out of your mind.->ignore2]] [[Click the link to the article.->news2]]

<center>CHINESE DOCTORS BAFFLED BY MYSTERY ILLNESS</center> BEIJING--A cluster of pneumonia cases is stumping Chinese doctors in the centrally located city of Wuhan... [[Hmm. Set up a news alert. Just in case.->prep1]] [[Luckily, all of this stuff seems to be happening half a world away. Nothing for you to worry about.->news3]]

Your mom will kill you if you get her yet another pair of funny socks because you put off your holiday shopping until the last minute. You spend the rest of the evening picking out the perfect gifts, and you go to bed exhausted but satisfied. [[Next.->news3]]

It's almost a month after the new year. 2020 started pretty quietly for you, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. This afternoon, you have plans to grab coffee with an old friend whom you haven't seen in a while. You're excited to catch up, and you spend a leisurely hour in the coffee shop talking about your families and gossipping about what others in your high school graduating class have been up to. Finally, your conversation turns to current events. You both quickly agree that this year will be exhausting politically with the presidential election coming up. "By the way," your friend says, "have you heard about that crazy new disease they found in China?" You've been seeing more conversation about it online, but you haven't really delved into the details. [[Ask your friend how much they know. The topic is more interesting to you than politics.->news4]] [[Dismiss it. You'd rather talk about your friend's new puppy than whatever depressing thing is going on in the news right now.->ignore3]]

Did you really just consider taking this guy seriously? Now you definitely know it's time to get down to work. You spend the rest of the evening picking out the perfect gifts, and you go to bed exhausted but satisfied. [[Next.->news3]]

As the weeks pass, you hear more and more about what they're calling "the novel coronavirus." Details become unavoidable--they're online, they're on TV, they're filling the spaces of awkward small talk. You've tried to not think about it too much, but that becomes impossible as the disease spreads. It's your co-worker who tells you they locked down northern Italy last night; the virus is spreading like wildfire there. She looks a little nauseous as she recalls how she and her partner had visited the country just two years ago. "I'm thinking about buying a few days' worth of supplies, you know? Just in case things get bad here." [["I heard people are already sick with it in Seattle," you confirm, nodding. Ever since information about the virus became unavoidable, you've given in and started avidly reading the news.->paranoia2]] [[You raise an eyebrow at her but bite your tongue. There's no reason to be so alarmed about what essentially amounts to a bad flu.->pandemic1]] [["Maybe that's a good idea," you say. It's been a while since you checked the go-bag of emergency supplies your mom got you, anyway. This is as good of an excuse as any to do so.->prep3]]

"I've seen some stuff about it," you say. "It's crazy," your friend says. "My college roommate is in grad school for epidemiology, and she keeps posting these wild articles about how serious it is..." Your friend enumerates the facts: that this new illness affects the lungs, that it's highly contagious, that hospitals are overflowing in locked-down cities. It sounds like something out of a bad movie. "Anyway," your friend says, "I'm trying not to panic, but I trust my old roommate that it's serious." You try to shift the somber air that's fallen over both of you by asking about your friend's new puppy. Cute photos of too-big paws and videos of tiny barks do manage to cheer you both up. On your way home, however, you find yourself unable to stop thinking about all of those sick people. You stay up a little too late scrolling through headlines, trying to catch up on what's been going on half a world away. All of it almost seems too awful to be true. [[Put your phone down for the night. You can't do anything about your past ignorance now, but you can keep an eye on any developments going forward.->prep1]] [[Click into r/corona. It's important to analyze what's going on from all sides, right?->prep2]]

"I saw that was happening," you say before adding, "Hey, you never actually showed me pictures of your puppy." Your friend's face lights up. They pull out their phone and begin scrolling through the numerous photos they've already taken. By the time you've cooed over all of them and agreed on the tiny creature's adorableness, it's time to go. You give your friend a hug and a part ways for now. [[Next.->prep1]]

Your late night turns into early morning as you sift through dozens of threads. Most of them are just conversations rehashing what you already know, but a few are kicking around some screwball theories: that there isn't actually a virus at all, that it spreads via 5G, that it was engineered in--and somehow escaped from--a virology lab located in the outbreak's epicenter. [[Click into the thread about the disease being a hoax. It's 2020, after all, not 1918. How serious can this thing be?->ignore4]] [[Click into the thread about the lab. Something seems fishy to you about how all of this has been playing out.->paranoia1]] [[Call it a night. It's time to actually get some sleep.->prep1]]

You're relieved to find a conversation that allays your worst fears. The symptoms don't seem so bad once you see them broken down, and the virus seems to mostly affect older people and those with pre-existing conditions. Most people seem to recover without issue after a few days. Sure, the disease might be particularly contagious, but so is the seasonal flu. As usual, it looks like the mainstream news is valuing clicks and sensationalism over actual reporting. [[Try to get some sleep. You know you'll rest easier now.->prep1]] [[Try to get some sleep, but find yourself tossing and turning for a while yet. Something about this whole thing still isn't siting right with you.->prep1]]

When you skim through the thread, you're alarmed by what people have uncovered. The new virus shows a startling genetic similarity to SARS, one of the diseases being studied at the virology lab. Was this some sort of horrible accident? A biological weapons test gone wrong? Many of the posts in the thread agree that this can't just be a coincidence. [[Put your phone down and try to get some sleep. Reading crazy conspiracy theories at this hour of night can't be good for you.->prep1]] [[Keep reading, even though it means your dreams will be filled with nightmares. The following morning, you won't even remember when you fell asleep with your phone still clutched in your hand.->prep1]]

When you're not working, you call people you haven't heard from in a while and begin to work your way through a backlog of books, video games, and TV shows--anything to fill the hours of isolation. You hear from friends who lost their jobs when restaurants shut down, a cousin who's having trouble making his rent, a family friend whose young children miss their school friends and can't concentrate on their homework. Their problems make your frustrated boredom pale in comparison. None of you know anyone who's gotten sick, and their suffering feels so much more immediate to you than any symptoms of illness. When the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends everyone wear masks to prevent the spread of the virus, it feels like one more burden upon your loved ones. [[Forego a mask yourself when you're out and about. You haven't seen convincing proof that it helps, so you don't see the need. When you post a mask-less selfie a few days later, you subsequently spend about an hour arguing with disapproving acquaintances in the comments.->ignore8]] [[Buy a few extra cloth masks to give to your friends and family. Luckily, you're still employed and you can afford to help them.->pandemic2]]

When you get home from work, you open your hallway closet. In front of shelves packed with bundles of toilet paper, bottles of hand sanitizer, and rows of canned food, you inhale deeply, the staccato of your panicky heartbeat slowing down a bit. As you exhale, you straighten a box of energy bars so it lines up with the ones behind it. You've been amassing this collection over time, ever since the coronavirus began to dominate even mainstream news cycles. [[It does seem a bit excessive, though, as you're taking it all in. Maybe you should run some of the items over to the nearby homeless shelter, or at least your parents' house.->prep4]] [[You feel a bit smug as you cast your eye over everything. You'll be prepared when those who haven't been paying attention are in real trouble.->paranoia3]]

After work, you head to the store to pick up a few things: an extra pack of toilet paper, three pocket-sized bottles of hand sanitizer, and a few cans of beans. It's not much, but it'll be enough to tide you over in a pinch, so it helps you feel a bit more prepared. [[Next.->pandemic1]]

The exhausted volunteer at the homeless shelter accepts your donations with quiet gratitude, managing a small smile when she hands you a receipt. Your parents, however, are perplexed. "What do we need all this for?" your dad asks. "We're only two people." "Where did you even get this stuff?" your mom adds. [["You'll thank me later," you assure them as you help your dad put everything away.->pandemic1]] [[You roll your eyes. "I didn't need to bring these supplies over. If you don't want them, I'll just take them home."->paranoia3]]

By the time the World Health Organization has declared a pandemic two and a half weeks later, price gougers have already taken advantage of the situation: A regular pump bottle of hand sanitizer is selling for as much as $80 online, and store shelves are empty of paper products and canned goods. With your well-stocked closet, you feel prepared, relieved, self-assured--and scared about what might come next. [[Next.->pandemic1]]

Like a serial killer gaining notoriety, the disease now has a name, the one by which the authorities call it: COVID-19. That jumble of capital letters punctuated by a number seems to be in every headline as more people grow ill and more municipalities issue stay-at-home orders to prevent the spread of the virus. You live far from the coastal epicenters. Your own city has just decided to lock down: No going outside except for essentials, exercise, and walking your pets. [[You're ready for the long haul. You've added several boxes of N95 masks to your stash of supplies, and you haven't been outside much since March to begin with. Knowing what's going on in New York, it feels better to be safe than sorry.->paranoia4]] [[Working from home for a bit is a nice break, but this all feels like an overreaction. They're calling it a pandemic, but you don't know anyone who's sick. Just last week at the supermarket, everything was normal. It seems impossible that life could change so quickly.->ignore5]] [[You knew things were getting serious, but now it all feels more immediate. You hunker down but keep an eye on how things are developing.->pandemic2]]

You spend much of your time flipping between tabs on your computer or phone, your eyes skimming over new articles on COVID-19, messages from acquaintances you've made via the r/corona message board, and a live ticker of case numbers broken down by country and U.S. state. Even when you're working on some other project, if you're not paying attention, you'll switch, completely on autopilot, to some news feed or another. Your eyes ache when you finally crawl into bed at night. The last time you called your parents, your mom asked you, her voice edged in something between panic and frustration, "What if we talk about something besides the coronavirus?" And you tried. You really, really did. But the pandemic has touched everything about your life. Your parents asked you a few questions about what's been going on in your life lately, but since you rarely leave the house, you've fallen into a monotonous routine, and there's not much to tell. The conversation fizzled out shortly after that. When you hung up, a knot of anxiety and guilt twisted in your stomach. [[Maybe your mom is right, and you should lay off your compulsive website refreshing.->pandemic2]] [[You've been glued to your screens for so long that at this point, your morbid fascination inevitably gets the better of your mom's advice. It's like that old cliche about watching a trainwreck: You can't look away.->paranoia7]]

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's mask recommendation soon catches fire around the country: Wearing one in public indoor areas becomes a mandatory part of governments' responses to COVID-19. At the grocery store and even on the street, you begin to spot more and more people using some kind of face covering. [[You use one, too, and keep a few spares handy to tide you over until laundry day. Wearing a mask outside feels weird at first, but if it'll help "flatten the curve" of exponentially rising case numbers, you're happy to do it.->pandemic3]] [[You've barely touched your stash of N95s, to be honest--you get your groceries delivered, you exercise in your own home, and you generally see no good reason to go outside.->paranoia7]] [[Weeks of lockdown, and now this? You barely remember what "normal" life is like anymore, but you find yourself desperately longing for everything to just go back to the way it was. How long is this really going to last?->ignore8]]

It's just after lunch when your phone rings. When you answer, you're pleasantly surprised to hear the voice of your former roommate. You used to meet up for happy hours pretty regularly to catch up with each other, but ever since lockdown started, you haven't seen them. "Hey! I know this is kind of out of the blue," your friend says, "but I realized I haven't seen you in a while when a few of your posts about the mask thing popped up in my timeline. There's a protest going on downtown tomorrow afternoon, and I was thinking of checking it out, if you wanna come with. There are other countries that are re-opening, and after a month, we have to try re-opening too, right?" [["Sure, why not?" Your friend relays the time and location details. You're excited to finally see in person a human being who isn't a stranger.->ignore9]] [[Even though you disagree with the whole mask mandate, something about the protest doesn't sit right with you. "Sorry," you say, "I've got this big project I really need to finish."->pandemic7]]

Little by little, people stop calling to check in on you, and you fill those hours with reading, research, and sleep. Before you know it, states begin to announce their re-opening plans, just in time for Memorial Day weekend. There's no treatment, no vaccine, no cure--just a lot of people scared for their livelihoods as much as they are for their health. Everything about the situation still terrifies you. You feel exhausted a lot of the time. It feels like COVID-19 has existed forever, that the past few months have morphed into a new state of being, one that keeps you and everyone else in a strange state of stasis. As the days warm and grow longer, no one knows what will happen next. <center>THE END...FOR NOW.</center> [[Credits.->credits]]

You might be working from home, but you've been run ragged this week by everything you've had to do. Between various deadlines, a Zoom call with your family that devolved into a shouting match, and keeping up with your friends, you feel pulled in way too many directions. You know you should be taking care of yourself, too, but with your packed schedule, it's easy to forget. [[Try to get to bed early tonight, for once. Then, you can wake up early and continue going through your to-do list.->pandemic8]] [[Go for a walk at your nearby park. Some fresh air will do you good.->pandemic8]] [[The next thing on your list is to go to the grocery store. It'll be busy at this time of day, but maybe getting out of the house will pep you up.->sick1]]

The following afternoon, you meet your friend at an intersection near the planned protest site. As you walk up, you notice all the storefronts on this street are shuttered, their lights off, their interiors empty. You wonder, with all the revenue they must be losing, whether they will be able to open again after all of this is over. The sound of chanting drifts over from two blocks away. Your friend greets you, and together you make your way over to the throng of people standing in front of City Hall. The protestors are clustered tightly together, some bearing signs, few wearing masks. As you get closer, you can pick out the words to the chant: "I will not comply!" You mainly showed up out of curiosity and to see your friend, but the energy of the crowd is infectious. Soon enough, both of you are joining in the call to reopen your city, your state. After weeks of feeling alone and powerless, a giddy sort of elation fills your chest. It remains even after the protest dies down, buoying you home. [[Next.->sick1]]

At the beginning of May, your mom calls you one day just after lunch, which is unusual for her. You push back a sense of dread as you answer. Instead of greeting her with a "hello," you say instead, "Mom? What's wrong?" "Honey?" Her voice sounds thick. "Are you at home?" You attempt a joke--"Where else would I be?"--but she doesn't laugh. "I have some bad news," she says instead. "There was a coronavirus outbreak at Grandpa's nursing home." Her voice is wobbling now. "They just called me to tell me he got sick and passed away." The bottom of your stomach falls out. "What? When?" "Last week," she says. She's sniffing, fighting to speak through tears. "They were dealing with so many sick people, they couldn't even tell us until it was too late." [["Can I do anything?" you ask. As devastated as you are, your mom must feel even worse.->funeral1]] [["I don't know what to say," you tell her. "I think I need to process this on my own."->pandemic9]]

About a week later, you wake up feeling off--like something about your body has shifted--but you can't put your finger on what exactly is going on. You push your discomfort aside and start your morning routine, but as the day goes on, your head and your joints begin to ache. When you go to rub some pain relief salve into your wrists, you pause. Again, something isn't right. It takes you a moment to realize you can't smell the usually overpowering menthol smell of the salve. [[Take a deep breath. It could be nothing. You'll see how you feel in the morning.->sick2]] [[Pull out your phone and search for the closest testing site. You want to be tested as soon as possible.->sick3]]

The following morning, you wake up before your alarm, gasping for air. You feel like you're burning up. You stumble to your bathroom to splash some cold water on your face, then spend several moments with your hands braced on your sink counter, trying to catch your breath. Again, you do your best to tamp down your panic, but you can't escape one fact: You need to get tested. [[Next.->sick3]]

At the urgent care center, a nurse gives you a nasal swab, then sends you home with strict intructions: "We'll call you tomorrow with the results, but your symptoms are consistent with COVID-19, so you're gonna have to quarantine yourself. Stay at home until ten days pass, and make sure your fever is gone and you haven't had any symptoms for the last three of those days." You nod at her through your malaise before dragging yourself home. You crawl into bed, and for the next twenty-four hours, you don't leave it except to go to the bathroom or get water. When the nurse calls, you're not surprised to hear your test is positive. What does surprise you is how awful you feel--you had no idea a human body could go through this much misery. You have nightmares fueled by fever, only to wake up gasping for air, your muscles shaking with chill. You're almost too weak to care for yourself, but you manage. By the time you start to feel better, you're stunned to discover over a week has passed, all the days of your illness blurring together into one painful blob of a dream. Even when your symptoms fully subside, you don't feel quite like yourself, and you wonder how long it will be before you do. [[Next.->pandemic9]]

Planning a funeral is already tough when there isn't a pandemic. Your mom confesses she has no idea where to start. You spend the day researching funeral homes, burial options, software for having people videoconference into a memorial service. By the time you go to bed that night, your eyes are burning and you're exhausted, but you've gotten as much straightened out for your mom as you can. The funeral itself, conducted later that week, is a quick thing, and witnessing it all through a computer monitor feels alienating. It doesn't feel like enough to honor his legacy, to give you the space to say goodbye, to mourn with your loved ones--but you're glad your family could at least do something to honor your grandpa, strange as it is. [[Next.->funeral2]]

Everything about your pandemic experience still feels raw when states begin to announce their re-opening plans, just in time for Memorial Day weekend. There's no treatment, no vaccine, no cure--just a lot of people scared for their livelihoods as much as they are for their health. You feel exhausted a lot of the time. It feels like COVID-19 has existed forever, that the past few months have morphed into a new state of being, one that keeps you and everyone else in a strange state of stasis. As the days warm and grow longer, no one knows what will happen next. <center>THE END...FOR NOW.</center> [[Credits.->credits]]

When your phone rings late one evening, you're tempted to ignore it; no one really calls you these days aside from your parents, and even then, those conversations have become short and awkward. You glance from your computer to your now lit-up phone screen. It's your sister. You both usually stick to texting, so if she's bothering to actually call you, it must be important. With some reluctance, you answer. "Hey," she says when you pick up. "I wanted to check in on you." You spend twenty minutes catching up, and she even listens patiently to your (admittedly frenzied) recap of this week's COVID-19 news. When you pause, however, she cuts in. "So, I wanted to talk to you because Mom and Dad are really worried about you," she says. Her voice is a bit strained, as if by discomfort, but there's a note of real concern there, too. "Worried?" you say. "Why?" You know already, though. There's a sinking feeling in your stomach as she continues. "They mentioned you were . . . super preoccupied lately," she says carefully. "With the pandemic. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk to someone. Like a professional." [[Cut her off. You don't need her help--if anything, other people need to take COVID-19 more seriously.->paranoia8]] [[Hear her out. Maybe you have been going overboard lately.->therapist1]]

You're hurt that your parents and sister would talk about you like this. Besides, it's not like you're doing anything harmful--not like those anti-mask people. So you brush your sister off: "I'm fine," you say. "You and Mom and Dad shouldn't worry about me." "Are you sure? Because I can--" "I'm sure," you say firmly. "Okay," she says, but her voice is full of reluctance. You speak for just a few more minutes before hanging up. The uneasy feeling in your stomach doesn't subside for the rest of the night. [[Next.->paranoia9]]

"You mean like a therapist?" you ask your sister. "Yeah," she says. "You know, I've been talking to a counselor myself the past few weeks," she adds, surprising you. "Just to help me deal with . . . everything. It's helped a lot. She has a few other people working at her practice. I can give you the number for the office." You write down the phone number she dictates to you, your hands just a bit shaky. You didn't think you needed help, but now that your sister has mentioned it, you have been feeling much more anxious lately--so much so that doing anything besides keeping up with the news feels like too much. "I'll call them this week," you promise her right before you hang up. "Let me know how it goes," she says. "Hey--I love you." "I love you, too," you say. When you get off the phone, you find your sinking stomach has righted itself, and you breathe a bit easier. [[Next.->pandemic10]]

With everyone stuck at home, a captive audience, it sometimes feels like the constant stream of news about the coronavirus--and people's ceaseless opinions on every update, major or minor--is now the most exhausting part of day-to-day life. Every scrap of data, every fresh scientific paper, every politician's social media post: All of it is up for excruciatingly minute dissection. One morning in late March, as you sip coffee and skim the headlines, one in particular jumps out at you: <center>SENATE APPROVES $2 TRILLION SIMULUS PACKAGE</center> You click into the article, curious about the details. To get to the breakdown of what the stimulus actually means for you, you must first scroll past a few embedded tweets, including one from the president himself: President of the United States of America @POTUStweets 1h Ready to sign this Great Deal to help the American economy! Below the tweet is a link to an analysis of the stimulus bill. [[Keep scrolling. You haven't yet gotten to the details you wanted to read about.->pandemic4]] [[Hit the retweet button. Finally, it sounds like the government is working together to help those who are out of work, and you want to share the good news.->ignore6]] [[Go to the analysis. Will any money be going to health care? What about supporting the supply chain? You have so many questions.->paranoia5]]

<center>Uncontrolled Spread A Pandemic Simulator [[START->start]] [[CREDITS->credits]] </center>

<center>Text by <a href="http://www.katelusedor.com">Kate Lu</a> Editing by Chris Sedor Testing by Anurag Andra, Katie Borgman, Molly Kasperek, Brandon Minor, and Elise Portale</center> Funding for this project was generously provided by the University of Colorado Boulder's <a href="https://www.colorado.edu/cha/">Center for Humanities & the Arts</a> through a <a href="https://www.colorado.edu/cha/coping-covid-19/shelter-projects-cha-micro-grants">Shelter-in-Place Micro-Grant</a>.

For the rest of the day, Twitter serves you posts from Fox News anchors, government agencies, and Daily Caller reporters. A few of these accounts pop up in your suggested follows, too. [[Follow a few of them. It couldn't hurt.->ignore8]] [[Ignore the suggestions. Your feed is crowded enough as it is.->pandemic7]]

The analysis sends you down a rabbit hole of related articles, recaps, and timelines. Reviewing the past months' upward tick of case numbers fills you with a familiar sense of dread and, helpless, you let the icy feeling wash over you as you continue to scroll. When you next look at the time, you're startled to find you're fifteen minutes late to a meeting. [[Join late and apologize to everyone.->pandemic7]] [[Skip it. You're already late, and you can make your excuses later.->paranoia7]]

A few people you met during your semester abroad have put together a Zoom happy hour for the last weekend of March, and you're buzzing with excitement as you join the call. You haven't seen any of these friends in ages because you all live in different places, and you've been looking forward to catching up. You spend a raucous half hour exchanging personal news, reviving old inside jokes, and reminiscing about times when you were all allowed to travel. It's that last topic that finally causes you all to lapse into a melancholy silence. "Does anyone remember what the 'Before Times' were like?" someone finally says, trying to crack a joke. [["I don't think we're ever going to get back to 'normal,'" you say. You've thought a lot about what it would be like to live like this for years.->paranoia6]] [["I don't miss awkward Tinder dates, though," you say, trying to match your friend's levity.->pandemic6]] [["I mean, I don't see why we can't get back to normal right now," you say. "It's not like it's that bad anywhere but New York."->ignore7]]

No one knows what to say for a moment. Finally, one of your friends says, "It can't last forever, though." "Not forever," you concede, "but at least a few years, probably. And by then, we'll have found a new 'normal.'" "Hugs will be banned," someone else jokes. "Maybe," you say. Your serious tone silences everyone again. Someone tries to change the subject, but the rest of the call feels disjointed, like people's minds are now elsewhere. The conversation fizzles out after about an hour. Your friends don't make plans for another happy hour before hanging up. [[Next.->paranoia7]]

It's not the best joke you've ever come up with, but your friends seem to appreciate your attempt to steer the conversation away from how helpless you all feel. "Can you imagine what a Zoom date would be like?" one of them says. "How would you even come up with an excuse to bail if it was going badly? Everyone knows you're trapped at home." You all spend the rest of the call laughing and imagining awkward--but unlikely--Zoom scenarios. Before you all hang up, someone proposes making happy hour a monthly thing. You feel energized and connected for the first time in a while, and the good feeling lasts through the following week. [[Next.->pandemic7]]

"It's not that bad right now because we're all staying at home," someone points out. There's some exasperation in his voice. "Or maybe the virus isn't as bad as everyone says it is," you can't help but counter. "You don't really believe that, do you?" asks another one of your friends. The call devolves into a debate, which further disintegrates into an argument. You try to point out all the holes in the data, the overwhelming evidence that most people who catch COVID-19 seem to recover just fine. One of your friends agrees, but both of you get shouted down by others on the call. By the time you hang up, you're in a foul mood, anger knotting in your stomach. [[Next.->ignore8]]

When states begin to announce their re-opening plans, just in time for Memorial Day weekend, everything about your pandemic experience still feels a bit raw--although therapy is helping you learn the skills you need to cope. There's no treatment, no vaccine, no cure--just a lot of people scared for their livelihoods as much as they are for their health. You feel exhausted a lot of the time. It feels like COVID-19 has existed forever, that the past few months have morphed into a new state of being, one that keeps you and everyone else in a strange state of stasis. As the days warm and grow longer, no one knows what will happen next. <center>THE END...FOR NOW.</center> [[Credits.->credits]]

When your phone rings late one evening, you're tempted to ignore it; you've been so exhausted lately. You glance from your TV to your now lit-up phone screen. It's your sister. You both usually stick to texting, so if she's bothering to actually call you, it must be important. With some reluctance, you answer. "Hey," she says when you pick up. "I wanted to check in on you." You spend twenty minutes catching up, but once you both run out of personal news, she cuts in. "So, I wanted to talk to you because I know losing Grandpa was really rough," she says. Her voice is a bit strained, as if by discomfort, but there's a note of real concern there, too. She continues, "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk to someone. Like a professional." [["I appreciate it, but I'm okay, really," you say. You don't need help; you just need space.->funeral3]] [[Hear her out. She's always had your best interests at heart.->therapist1]]

"Okay," she says reluctantly. "But if you change your mind . . ." "I'll let you know," you reassure her. You talk for a few more minutes before hanging up. You're grateful to hear from your sister, but you know yourself best. Time has always been the best medicine for you, and you don't see why now would be any different. [[Next.->pandemic9]]

The government sending $1,200 straight to your bank account? You can't complain. Maybe you can send part of the money to a few COVID-19 relief funds, too. [[Next.->pandemic5]]