Forecast: Foggy with a chance of fog

Immediately before the COVID-19 fog, there was a balance of panic and preparation.

The hoarding of toilet paper, the purchase of more cleaning supplies than you've used in years, and the installation of that garage chest freezer you've been meaning to buy, anyways.

The confirmation that your webcam worked for these new "Zoom" calls (they're all the rage) and a silent giddiness that you didn't have to wear pants to work for a while.

Within a few weeks came the antsiness.

How long was this going to go on? Graduations were canceled. Summer vacations hung in limbo. You needed a haircut so badly you weighed the pros and cons of doing it yourself and instead invested in Teleties.

Your bank account showed you how much you had previously been spending on dry cleaning and eating out.

If you are an introvert, you feel guilty for thriving right now. You are secretly relishing this constant recharge and safe routine. If you are an extrovert, you find yourself in desperate need of in-person, face-to-face (mask-to-mask?) time with a friend. Or a stranger.

As an extrovert, you read "helpful" tips online: "Get out. Talk a walk. Text a friend."

Do they even know me? you'd ask to no one in particular.

A few weeks after that comes the roller coaster of feelings, but none seem to be good.

Zoom fatigue. It's real. You have to be "on" at all times. You turn off the webcam to yawn. You don't seem to sleep well. Surely it doesn't have anything to do with the fact you have 12-16 hours of screen time a day.

Oops. Back to that Zoom meeting.

You check Facebook while that guy drones on and on about something everyone should have read in advance, anyways. You excelled at multitasking before and now you feel like you have a doctorate in it.

But you still feel unproductive at the end of the day. Your calendar is full [of online meetings] but you feel empty.

You hear of a friend's elderly parent who has passed away - perhaps it was COVID-19-related. But they were already sick, right?

You hear of a friend's 30-something brother who has passed away - perhaps it was also COVID-19-related. He wasn't sick, though, right?

You are discouraged from attending either funeral. You'll send a card. You put it on your list to find closure.

Your family members are being furloughed and laid off. You hear about how your musician friends are hurting. Every other share is a GoFundMe link.

Your neighbor's small business is suffering, and there's no CARES Act that can save it after the Band-Aid comes off - because honestly, how long is this going to last?

What will be the moment that snaps us all back into the mindset we were in February 2020? Was it "safe" then?

You can't remember. Was February 2020 a good place to be?

You turn on the news only to turn it off again. Everyone, on both extremes of the political spectrum, seems to live in their echo chambers. If there are so many people like you, in the middle, where are they? Maybe you just can't see them. After all, we're self-isolating.

You use Facebook and social media differently now. Obsessively you keep up with friends you used to see often and begin recognizing how social media's overuse can affect self-esteem.

Why is everyone going to the beach except for me?

You recognize, with your limited understanding of psychology, that there is something... different... going around. It's not just survivors of COVID-19 who are changed by their circumstances. It's you, too.

You have absorbed the "mask or no mask" fight. You have listened to politicians and medical experts bark at you. You wear a mask and get judged. You don't wear a mask and get judged. Do you care about the economy or not? It's all so black and white, but the fog makes it all seem gray.

You go months without televised live sports in which to escape.

...But you remember being told: We're all in this together.

So, why doesn't it feel that way? Or, maybe it does feel that way, and you want off this ship. You were never big on cruises, anyways.

Remember when health care workers were heroes? When teachers were underpaid? And when people were deemed essential? Seems like a long time ago that we cared.

You notice more and more mistakes being made. Silly things like typos you've made in important emails. More costly errors, too - in your job and elsewhere. You've made them, your coworkers have made them. Your spouse is absent-minded - more so than usual.

You anxiously debate calling the HVAC repairman to find out where he is - he's only 45 minutes late, you tell yourself. When you call him, he unleashes what you would figure he'd only admit to his therapist. It doesn't matter - he's not coming today, after all.

You try to remember patience. To treat people with grace. Everyone is stressed out, you remind yourself, taking a deep breath. It never seems like you can breathe deeply enough, these days.

Just like your home internet, you have learned that you cannot engage in Zoom and share a screen while someone else at home is downloading music and streaming a movie. You only have enough bandwidth and these days, you're feeling like first-generation DSL.

But you keep on the happy face - people are counting on you, after all.

It's late summer now. Maybe? You don't know. It doesn't really matter what month it is. Honestly, it only matters what day it is, because Monday is Recycling Day at the curb and you've got a bin of empty wine bottles you need to discard before your neighbors start talking.

You're tired of being in your own head. You desperately search for a change of scenery, making vacation plans and canceling them. Again and again.

This fog is thick. In the pre-COVID days, by mid-morning, it has lifted by now. You tell yourself you are lucky - you have a roof over your head. A job (or unemployment checks and savings). A family (and/or friends). There are always people in worse situations.

Do you know how lucky you are? you ask yourself regularly. Surely you're not depressed or anxious, right?

You are tired.

You consider your calendar in the "old days." It was busy. Meetings, conferences, travels, socials, baseball games. Now your calendar is inundated with Zoom, Google Meet, Skype, and WebEx links. Even the "fun" things are virtual.

Does that make them less fun?

Oh, I don't know who needs to hear this, but before you log on to Zoom for that budget meeting, check your video virtual background. I don't know that Pee Wee's Funhouse is appropriate this early in the morning.

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Allison Giddens is a Director of Operations at Win-Tech, an aerospace manufacturer (an essential business) in Kennesaw, Georgia, the Founder of The Dave Krache Foundation, and someone who sees interconnectedness when she's not trying. She has an undergraduate degree in psychology and recognizes the long-term effects of a sustained stressful situation. Whether this a passing chapter or something that has been with you for much longer, you're not alone - there are always people who want to talk to you.