As Barry Friedman told me yesterday, "I've been social distancing for seventy two years." Not quite so long for me but you know how uncomfortable I get in crowds. I am sort of an expert at this. I've been holed up in my shop for twenty years trying not to talk to anyone. Preparing for this very moment.
Retha sent me this excellent picture yesterday, she took it with her beautiful medium format Leica camera several years ago. Wide open. Leslie says I looked so young back then.
|Retha Evans - Leica S-2 ƒ2.5 1/750 iso 160 70mm|
Nice shot of a somewhat difficult subject. Who has been writing like a madman of late. Seventy four blogposts in a little over a half a month. Will be a personal record for sure, if I survive anyway. I have to write. What the fuck else are we supposed to do? Watch the stock market tank? Learn to knit? Take Bossa Nova lessons? Get out from under the bed?
See, I have a very compromised immune system, have had one for years. I get everything. The virus looks at me like a Swansons hungryman tv dinner with all the fixings. Honestly, I probably don't stand a chance. I might as well have a sign on my back that says, hey virus, kick me. That tickle in the back of my throat? Nahhh. Just wait, watch it make a beeline for me. Tell me I didn't tell you so.
So I'm not saying I won't have lots of eventual company, I'm just saying, guaranteed, first on the list.
I have an immunotherapy session this Friday, place next to Scripps. Have gloves, have wipes, going to be so wrapped up I'll look like the invisible man walking in with all my protective gear and coverings. It really sucks. Medical buildings are about the last place you want to be right now. Don't touch the elevator button with your finger. Try not to look in horror at the person who just coughed on your shoulder.
See you in hell.