The Sound of My Heart Breaking

Who can think of anything else at the moment but THE BUG? Covid-19. Coronavirus.

I look at the statistics in the morning, and watch the US climb by a hundred deaths a day. David Sedaris once wrote that in the US, Americans were taught to think “We’re number 1!” without ever thinking that no other country in the world went around touting “We’re number 2!”, that is, until Mr. Orange came around. Then we had a bunch of spoof videos of every other country in the world (including one for Mordor) claiming to be second. Because America was first.

I don’t want them to be number one on Covid deaths. I want Mr. Orange to be right, that it’s not that bad, that it won’t get that bad. I don’t want my former country to suffer that much. (There’s a little bit of “serves them right” in all of this, to be sure, but it’s a passing thought because I don’t want to wish harm or suffering on anyone.)

And I don’t want THE BUG to hit the refugee camps, the favelas, or the shanty towns. I don’t want it to go to Mumbai or Kinshasa.

I feel terrible, because today I feel pessimistic. It will hit all those people. It will hurt them.

The only thing that makes me feel better is to wash things. I’ve washed the kitchen, the bathroom, the mats on the floors, fireplace, the recycling bin, the soap dishes. This has gone all to way to washing poor Foro, who’s needed a bath for a many months. Now I am appeased by the sounds of dripping fabric, but I know that it’s just the sound of my heart breaking.