Elizabeth Allison: Tired

We have been in quarantine since March 13th. On March 12, the day before my March Break at the school where I am the principal, we got news that the school would be closed for two weeks following the break. It was the biggest shock of my life.

I will never forget that moment as long as I live. I had been following the virus numbers, looking every day at both the linear and logarithmic curves, tracking the travel and community spread by country. But on March 12, closing school for two weeks was a complete blow to the gut.

I called over Patti, the secretary and asked her to read the email. My staff were distraught. I had no answers for anyone and only questions myself. There was one day left before the break. I threw myself into making fun activities available for staff and students, to distract everyone from the scary news and to fill the day with positives. It was harrowing. I kept a smile on my face and hugged the children. I had no idea how long it would be until I hugged them again. I still don't.

We self-quarantined at home. My father was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. We can't go to his appointments. We can't sit with him. We bought a Portal and we talk to them from the end of the garage with them at the door.

I started ordering groceries online. We support local restaurants by ordering delivery every week. They said don't wear masks; save them for the doctors so we didn't wear masks. They said start wearing masks to protect the doctors, I ordered masks. I work from home while helping my daughter with her school work. She won't have an 8th graduation. She can't see her friends.

I did all the things they said to do, patiently and with a smile on my face.

Now, I am tired. I recognize that this is a grown-up tantrum I'm not entitled to but I'm just tired. Tired of growing plants and doing puzzles and baking and baking and baking. I am tired of online meetings. Of not being able to take the dogs for a run at the dog park. I want to eat at Cracker Barrel and go to the movies. I want to sit beside my father at the end of his life. I want to leave my work in a different building from where I live. And I want to stop this new level of feeling guilty because I'm not drawing on the sidewalk and putting a picture in my window and banging on a pot with a spoon at seven-thirty in the evening.

Nothing is right and everything is a mess and every time someone says, "I hope things don't go back to exactly how they were," I want to say are you KIDDING ME? because that's exactly what I want.