You are definitely going to let me die, aren't you?

Sunday, I tell Amber that it feels as though I won't be going to work again for a while. I specify that I'm not merely acknowledging a sensation that I have had since the severity of coronavirus became clear. I have no justification, except that we are under state of national emergency. Our governor said that anyone from Rockland or below who is non-essential should stay home to slow the spread. When asked by a reporter if this order would extend northward, Cuomo seemed irritated. Is there anything to New York above Rockland County? It seems dubious. Cuomo then said that there were only a couple of cases here, so it was not worth the concern.

A week ago, there was one case in New Rochelle, a lawyer home from a trip. Within a few days, the spread was such that Cuomo ordered the National Guard to surround the city to provide aid. A couple of diagnosed cases upstate can radically multiply (and, of course, do within days before Cuomo extends his order to us).

Amber says it feels like the night before a snow day, where we know we will be staying home, huddled together with hot chocolate against the elements.

Amber gets a call that tells her that she is staying home tomorrow, and that she will have different hours on Tuesday. Her schedule is going to be thrown off, as she fills in for other people and prepares for the inevitability of one of her coworkers being quarantined. It is her spring break, extended by her college cancelling classes in deference to COVID-19. She can stand to be flexible.

I received an email last week explaining that I will be penalized for self-isolating. The only way I am in the clear is by testing positive, at which point they will have the local health department check on me irregularly to make sure I have not broken my quarantined. A positive test would not be worth the two weeks of indolence necessary to make sure I did not spread it further. (Should I test positive, it would be next to impossible that I didn't infect most of my coworkers through sharing the same air in my room with unopenable windows.)

When I showed up to work, there is a collective confusion from the YDAs. All their kids are home from school for two weeks at least. Why would teachers still be here? "I am essential," I tell them, "and presently healthy. I will stay here until I am told not to be."

I now must answer screening questions before I am allowed to enter the building. Between shifts, they want to know if I have been to a foreign country, acquired a fever and cough, or been in close contact with anyone who had. It is cold and I am not appreciative of this precaution. If one had come this far, one could easily say that nothing was different and be buzzed in.

When I arrive to my classroom, I have a dozen emails assuring me that I am essential and will have to be here until the moment I am officially diagnosed. When this happens I will have exposed everyone in our close confines and led to more quarantines. With some forethought of the logical conclusion, this could be prevented. Otherwise, it will only be a matter of waiting.

There is a strange air in the facility. Something more is going to happen and soon. I don't know what, but I know that it will.

I see one student and remind him that his classmates at home are out of school for the time being. He jokes that this means he gets unlimited free time until they are back in school. I pop that bubble immediately. He is doing an essay for me today. We are keeping the world normal for them. I am certain they wish we would not. They don't know how weird it is outside of the facility. It is a more compassionate thing that they don't. The daily student news they watch tries to make the pandemic more tangible, but it is not directly their concern and so they pretend apathy.

Another student, who is set to be discharged this week, says that he does not want to enter a world with coronavirus. He believes that he is safer here (at least until we get a confirmed case, the spark in the tinder). I state that he cannot stay. He requests that we leave him alone on the vacant unit with headphones and his cellphone. I tell him to enjoy the freedom of his home quarantine because we are not keeping him.

My coworker said that she is grateful that we are at work. Few things outside of here are normal right now. I do not agree with her sunny disposition on this. I am not sure she agrees either, but she is looking at the bright side.

My supervisor tells me that the stock market closed within two minutes of opening today. Our economy is going to go through strange corrections, if it doesn't collapse. I remember how painful things got for some people after the housing bubble collapse in 2008. I do not expect to be able to buy a house still, as is the case for many of my generation. The aftershocks of COVID-19 are poised to be much worse, as they are global and predicated on people refusing to leave their homes to spend money. All entertainment, the theaters and restaurants, will go through at least a month, if not more, of limited or no customers. Already, The Enchanted Cafe, which carried my books, told me that they are closing for good in the face of this. I expect to hear more of these. Even when the smoke clears, I do not know how willing people are going to be to dine out. This will reshape how businesses run.

Friends have posted pictures of the National Guard in Kingston. There has been nothing announced yet. I haven't seen anything like that in Red Hook, where we did have a confirmed case. Maybe it didn't spread too far through the Bard community. My concern is that the college acted too late and the students will spread coronavirus home. (I do not wish to harp too aggressively on this point, but this was how a virus spread in Flies to Wanton Boys.)

Within a few days of grumbling about the essentiality of our positions, one of my coworkers is in quarantine. She does not have COVID-19 as far as we know. She was in close, prolonged contact with someone showing symptoms, who was not diagnosed owing to a lack of tests. This is how the virus spreads. The government says there are a small number of confirmed cases, but "confirmed" is doing some heavy lifting in that sentence. If we cannot get the tests, then we cannot confirm the cases. If we cannot confirm the cases, the department of health doesn't have to add them to the tally, which looks better. Yes, it means that infectious people are not quarantined and are shedding their viral loads, but that is a risk the government is willing to take.

We have a meeting Wednesday where we can air our coronavirus fears to the director, and he can give us what information he has. It has the best of intentions, but involves twenty people in one room in contraindication of present federal guidelines.

The day after, they offer us smoothies to show us that they appreciate how we keep coming to work. I decline. A mysterious yogurt beverage with coworkers during a pandemic seems unwise.

Friday, the kids have had an assaultive night and morning, so administration cancels the classes. The teachers (aside from one, out with a sore throat and an abundance of caution) are told to give them work that they can do in their rooms. When we point out that this is what we were told we were not able to do -- the core of our essentiality -- it is met with a shrug. We work because that is our job. With Mnuchin predicting the possibility of 20% unemployment, we should be grateful.

An hour before we are to leave, my supervisor brings the teachers into my classroom and tells us that we must print out two weeks of work, the message having come from on high. We should still expect to come in on Monday.

When I arrive home, I receive a call from him telling me that we will not be going to work for two weeks. I am more unnerved than I recall being.

Soon in Xenology: Magical thinking and witchcraft. Probably more about COVID-19, since, you know, the world is ending and everything.

last watched: Broadchurch
reading: Sex and Rockets