Please Do Not Worry About Me; My Rejected Death Benefit; A NewYorker Hysterically Funny Story About the Joys of Social Distancing; More David Remnick; My Hard Working Dream Catcher

Multiple individuals write, saying Stay Safe Alexis and I Hope You Are Well. But please do not worry about me as there are three different case scenarios that are perfectly fine, either:
!. I get the coronavirus and die. I have had a near death experience in September 2014, so I do not fear death. I have had a long and interesting life.

  1. I get the disease but recover which is likely due to great immunity system, a flu shot and a recent pneumonia shot. People die when the virus spreads to their lungs. I develop antibodies and can live a more normal life and not always be washing my hands.
  2. I do not get the virus.
    So all scenarios would work for me. I would die happy and not be worrying, I have a great doctor and should be able to recover at home and I am doing everything to not get the virus.
    So everybody, do not worry about me. I will either die or my self esteem will be greater as I lived through this with dignity, with grace and with humour. I am a role model, even at this point.

But I am not happy with many of those around me, including my physicians, who do not seems to be taking a stand. Very informative but not sure they are doing anything, And then there is the administrator of my MCERA retirement fund, who has managed the funds admirably. It seems that what he needs to be doing is pressuring the health officials to lift the shut down so the economy can get going. He has a responsibility in my eyes. As all who regularly read this blog will know, I hate victimhood and self pity – hate it with a passion.

The reason for my worry about the funding is because of the my death benefit – if I die and my husband is 55 and we have been married for two years, he will 60% of my retirement income for the rest of his life. My friends laugh so hard at this saying:
They: Well, Alexis neither Joo Kim Tiah nor the Sultan (aka the Crown Prince of Dubai) will actually need that promised income and cannot be attracted to you because of it.
Me: I know and when I told First Man about it, he said: Alexis I have already funded my retirement.
CPI: Not that many men at his age (34) have done that. Not that many been start up multimillionaires, either.
Me: True. I sure know how to pick them. Hahaha
So my new mantra returns: Alexis, it is not your problem!

The beloved New Yorker strikes again. The absolutely funniest story in the humour section: written by Carrie McCrossen, on the topic of distancing, his is how it begins.

“I’m so glad you reached out! These are crazy times. I wish I could chat, but I’m currently learning how to make sourdough bread and my hands are covered in flour. Let’s find a time to catch up properly!
Hmm . . . I can’t do Wednesday. Wednesday morning I take an online yoga class. And then I have a Skype session with my therapist—I need Jill now more than ever!
But we’ll find a time.
I could probably do something Friday night? I have a happy-hour Google hang with some college friends at 7 p.m. But that won’t last too long, because even before the distancing we’d grown apart. And then I’m around until 10 p.m., when I’m having a movie night with my single girlfriends. (We’re synchronize-watching “Toy Story 4,” so that we don’t have to cry alone.)
Oh, you have something Friday at 8 p.m.? You have to work your DoorDash shift? I forgot you were still doing that.
You know, I’ve noticed that social distancing has actually been very healing for me. It’s really forced me to slow down and focus on what’s important. Like live-streaming my sourdough starter.
Hmm . . . Saturday is bad, because I’m doing a daylong silent retreat in my hall closet. Sunday morning I have a FaceTime sesh with my tennis coach. (Kevin says, “If I can see your serve, I can coach your serve.”)

I suppose the funniest sentence is: :Saturday is bad, because I’m doing a daylong silent retreat in my hall closet” Here is the link to it, am I not getting techie??? Social distancing is working for me. Actually it is working for me in almost every way. But a new project looms, photograph the lovely Victorians in the neighbourhood. It would get me out and about and there would be something to do, rather than just dodging people with face masks walking their dogs.

I am so talented suddenly so now I can give you the link to David Remnick’s article. But keep your hands off of him – he is mine. Of course I am just joking! He lives in New York, I live in San Francisco. I do admit that New York is closer than Dubai but that guy had a private jet AND an airlines and that did not work out either. Here is the link and more of the story expertly written by my hero.
“And so you stick your head out the window of an apartment that you haven’t left in days and look down and around. You wait awhile before you see a single scurrying soul, her arms full of groceries. She’s wearing a mask and walking with the urgency of a thief. She crosses Broadway, past blooming magnolias on the traffic divider. She quickens her step and heads toward Amsterdam Avenue. Like all of us, she is trying to outrun the thing she cannot see. You close the window and wash your hands for the fourteenth time that day. “Happy birthday to you . . .” Twenty seconds of it. Never less.
“On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy,” E. B. White wrote, in the summer of 1948. But these queer prizes are now a public-health requirement. Because New Yorkers are not medieval monks, we mostly chafe at the imposed solitude. We do our best to overcome it through technologies that White would have had a hard time imagining: We text. We Zoom. We send one another links about virology. (We are all immunologists now.)”

The photograph reveals the dream catcher by my bed. It has a full time job as I sleep for hours and hours in the lock down, and dream constantly and well, waking up wondering what was reality and what is a dream. To differentiate: reality has a sound track, dreams do not.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *