Of all the changes that we've endured during the Covid era, the dissolution of boundaries has maybe had the most insidious effect. Sure, we feel the obvious change of working at home, having to home-school kids, and not getting to see friends as often. We joke about time now being meaningless, but as isolation causes boundaries to crumble and online interactions just never feel quite real, the mind starts to go to pieces, too. Tasks and time smoosh together, tangible items seem to vanish into cyberspace, and the threads that keep life stitched together -- stopping to chat with a neighbor, smiling at the cashier at the grocery checkout, those little moments with loved ones that arise from everyone having experiences out in the world -- start to come undone.
This Is a Test
This is where I put the text for my first essay. Isn't it? I swear it was here a minute ago. What happened to the load of laundry that I put in the dryer? Did my phone ding to let me know it was done? What happened to the last hour? Is it with the text for this essay? Maybe it's behind the couch; maybe it'll turn up if I rearrange the furniture again. The text? No, the laundry. The laundry is still in the dryer. Unless it's in my phone, because my phone was supposed to tell me when the laundry was done but it didn't. I'll look for it in my phone, then get distracted scrolling Pinterest at new couches and inspiration for a new essay. Another hour lost.