TWO YEARS IN NEW YORK (Michael Mohr's Fictional NYC Covid Memoir)

Chapter 13 (PAID)

Photo by Julian Myles on Unsplash

Chapter 13

Mid-April, 2020

The pandemic—now simply referred to as Covid—had been around for a month by this point. But it seemed like six months. There was a psychological transformation which took place in many people’s minds. Mine for certain. A devolution, if you will. Time seemed to simultaneously slow down and yet speed up, a day feeling like both five minutes and a week. A slow, vibrating, gelatinous sensation overtook me, as if my body were experiencing—or maybe more so my mind—a mild case of Myesthenia Gravis, my corpus stunned, the muscles weakening. I was irritated and sluggish, determined but scared. We all were, I think.

Life had fallen into a new predictable, strange new routine. I’d get up around seven-thirty, eight am. Drink Irish Breakfast tea. Read. Shower. The usual. Then I’d “go…