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It’s July 2020. Movies have been made about the two-thousands. We should’ve had flying cars by now. Or at least hoverboards that don’t catch fire or intelligent AI that won’t let us drive our Segways off a cliff because we’re being stupid. At least we have some arguably safe self driving cars, I guess. Emphasis on arguably. Maybe I was looking at the wrong movie. Mad Max might have been more appropriate. At least we’re not in The Handmaid’s Tale level…. right? Cough.

If there was a movie made about July 2020, the biggest criticism would be that it was unreal. We wouldn’t let unidentified agents dressed in army fatigues to just take people off the streets with impunity, right? And that spray tanned villain who smirks and says, “I take no responsibility,” would never really fly in the face of a democratic nation, right? Those pro-lifers would FREAK OUT if they heard about little kids in cages, for sure. And if there’s a zombie virus going around that is transmitted through respiratory droplets, who in their right minds would have a giant fourth of July party or walk around with their masks on their chins? At least some people are saying that we have should have equal rights, amirite?

Here’s an open letter to all the stupid horror movies I’ve seen:

Dear Horror Movies with People I Thought Were Caricatures:

I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t exist. I thought the advent of the internet and the rise of information would cushion us from rampant ignorance. I was wrong. I misjudged you. Everything you presented could happen. Governments that ignore scientists. Traitorous villains in high places that literally look evil. Egregious defiance of liberties that we thought we’d be protected by. Man eating zombies. Please end this side show of 2020.

With respects,
A humbled viewer

It’s been months since I’ve been out of school.

Let me tell you, we had NO IDEA that when we walked out of school that Thursday morning, that would be our last day of having a semblance of normalcy. People were buzzing about TWO WEEKS of quarantine. Two weeks. It’s been more than four months and the forest fire of this pandemic is not even close to being contained. I remember grabbing my flowering plant on my way out the door and my coworkers gasping, “do you think we need to do that?!” Yes, I did, but no, not for that long. Ironically, I ended up forgetting that thing on a desk as I hugged my last hug as those things are now frowned upon. When I walked back into that building to gather my things on a shift we had to sign up for, I saw dead plants, rat droppings, and dates on walls that seemed apocalyptic.

We didn’t know.

If I did know, if I could go back in time and sit myself down, what would I say?

Hey girl, uh, I don’t know how to say this, but man, uh, just enjoy today, ok? Hug people. Oh, I looked like I had something to say? Uh… yeah, so… things are gonna get really bad, and people are gonna get really bad, and uh, I haven’t seen the end of it yet so I can’t promise it’ll get better. Just uh, grab some toilet paper from Costco on the way home today. Just…. just do it.

That’s the crazy part. The movie’s not over yet. If I went back to my old self, sitting in my classroom worrying about scheduling meetings, I’d have nothing to say. No hope, no comfort, no advice. Only toilet paper.

Shut(tered)

I’ve encouraged my students to write in journals during this time. I figure it may be wise to do the same. This isn’t meant to be a documentary, and I manage stress with humor, but these are critical times and meant to be witnessed and remembered.

It was Friday, March 13th when one of the administrators at my school called my phone in the morning. She said, “Jen, don’t come in to school today. There’s been some concerns about one of our students, I doubt you had contact with them, but we think it’s safe to close today and get a deep clean this weekend.”

I had already pulled into the parking lot, but I had a feeling in my gut. The coronavirus (COVID-19) was slowly rearing it’s ugly head, and schools in other states had already set a closure for two weeks. There weren’t many, maybe at that time 3 districts had announced it. Governor Baker of MA came on later to say places of congregants over 100 should plan to close, but schools shouldn’t worry yet. FACTS.

Back to the timeline. I decided to go into the building and grab some essentials. A plant I didn’t want dying. My computer power cord. Class materials from an online certification class I am taking. Teachers who also got the call late (or didn’t get one at all) were congregating in the staff room. I told them we probably wouldn’t be back on Monday. They saw my plant in my arm and were aghast. Should I take my plants home too? I shrugged. Better safe than sorry.

It’s been more than 4 weeks since that day. It is Saturday, April 11. We did not open on Monday. We had a two week closure, and then two more weeks. My gut says we won’t open at all again this school year. We’re doing remote teaching, and while I’m grateful to have a job, this is not what I signed up for. This is not what anyone signed up for.

So we stay home. I fend off conspiracy theories from people as close to me as my sister and brother-in-law who insisted this was a “flash-bang grenade” set off by the Chinese to stop the Hong Kong protests. And a democratic hoax. And just a bad flu. And a complete overreaction. I am social distancing from that.

As an introvert, this was awesome. I get to stay at home with my favorite person in the world, my husband, and do whatever I want, whenever I want. I have a semblance of a schedule that I built around making instructional videos and contacting students, but overall, I’m liking that all my plans are canceled for extremely incontrovertible reasons.

A old student texted me the other day to check in. His is one of the few that have successfully evolved from teacher-mentor to something less formal. As a fellow introvert, he said he was alarmed to find that he was starting to seek out people. As hilarious as it is, yes, we introverts also need our social meters filled (just a little bit at a time though!) and it’s been tough. I, however, am very happy not having to wear real pants anymore.