They say one shot in and I’m 80% protected against dying from this virus. That’s so high. That’s miraculous really. That’s a feat of science and decades of investment and research and long nights in neon-lit labs that have culminated so rapidly into this tiny sliver of metal inserting its magic into my arm in a newly-built parklet on Mission street in broad daylight.
That means…I’m not sure what it means.
Are we in the beginning? Or the end? Or perhaps in the middle yet?
For now, I sit in the between with all of you. I heard this week that we’re all languishing, not bad but not well. The not knowing what life will be like, if the anti-vaxxers will ruin it, busting up the party before we really have a chance to get it going again. Stripping away our freedom because they demanded their own freedom from the tyranny of empathy and care and concern for family, neighbors, humanity.
How long will this chance of not dying from this virus last, what boosters and vigilance and performative cleaning and social distancing and staying put will keep resurfacing, like tumbling on the front end waves of a pineapple express storm about ready to pummel the west coast shores?
It ain’t over yet.