Two years of this shit is getting old.

In two recent conversations with both my mother-in-law and a co-worker, I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re all burned out. From masks, to shots, to hand sanitizer; we’re over it. I know I am. I’ve done all the things I’m supposed to and, thankfully, have not succumbed to the virus. I am, however, tired. Tired of staying home more than I want to. Tired of not traveling like I used to. Tired of having anxiety about going to the damned grocery store. My “fuck it” stamp is in my left hand a ready for action. I’m done.

Image origin unknown, copyright applies.
Image origin, unknown.

There simply has to be a direct correlation between recent physical, verbal and online attacks and the anxiety over this pandemic. We’re all on pins and needles and that mode of existence cannot be healthy. It’s been crazy town these last two years. Seriously.

I don’t know how intertwined the pandemic is with the current real estate market, but it too is simply unreal and mind-boggling. All over the USA, real estate prices are ridiculous. It may come across as a non-sequitur, but in my mind the pandemic and inflated real estate prices have to be interconnected. The market is simply too crazed and low interest rates alone can’t be the culprit.

So where do we go from here? This isolationism is very difficult for a Type-A person like myself. I hate it. Is this last wave, where so many became infected with Omicron, the final blow from Covid-19? Let’s hope so. I’ve been patient, I’ve been kind, I’ve been a good person, but I am starting to unravel at the seams. I’m pleading to the Universe to give us a normal that isn’t the normal of 2020, 2021 and now 2022.