Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Fifty Six

A day of correspondences, flurry after panicked flurry. No time for thought really. Just reviewing them and replying as best I can, trying to make sense of it all. There is confusion, anger, sadness, and delight hidden amongst those words – mine at least – though one would never know it to scan their formal register.

It is strange when looked at from a certain perspective. Nothing tangible is accomplished, just words and more words, back and forth. And yet consequences arise from them that ripple here and there, to every part of our lives.  It is, in fact, hard to look away from the correspondences, to not come to believe that they amount to the sum of the world. They are a part of it surely, and in this time of quarantine necessarily the greater part, though I long for an hour or two with no further dispatches.