Are bunnies nocturnal?

In this, Our COVID Year, socializing and guilt are intimately joined, particularly as nothing else can be.

A few weeks ago, Aaron and Amanda--our designated Couple Friends--asked if we wanted to play a new board game. I countered that I had purchased fresh produce with which to create far too much veggie lo mein and would they like to combine these activities.

We ate outside on a table that Amber used for her craft fairs, playing Bunny Kingdom until well after dark--a conspicuous flaw when having an outdoor game night. We used our drinking jars and cellphone as improvised lanterns, but it only did so much good. We wore our masks, feet away from one another and unable to communicate the nuance of expression.

But I was joyful still because I had company. Not as I would have preferred it (the company, yes, but not the limitations), but I skipped while bringing out dinner. (Too mushy because I let it sit in its juices too long.)

They brought a key lime pie for dessert, which none of us had ever before. (It is fine, but not in my Top Pie Chart.)

I like the two of them. I did on sight and it persists. I am grateful to them that they accept this negligible threat that we will pass a plague onto the other. (Though, as the one whose work for the summer is solitary and done in my backyard, I am the least likely to be a carrier.) We are as careful as is possible short of not seeing one another at all, which is a bridge too far for me.

When this all began, I tried a few online meetups with friends and acquaintances. These were to company what masturbation is to sex. Far better than nothing, but a pale shadow of what all concerned know it should be. These meetups faded away soon enough, as no one kept up the effort of planning them.

The following weekend, because I had been having mental health issues during the week, Amber suggested that we do something with her day off. I rallied Chris and Sarah T. In a year that was not 2020, I would have made this more of a group affair. It is best to see the smallest molecules of friends, at least until a vaccinated 2021.

We opted for hiking at Norrie Point, as it involved being outdoors, active, and social distancing.

The day was not right. Sarah had not slept and might have better preferred staying home with Chris, watching a movie and napping. Those I am accustomed to them from summer months of running and biking, the masked hiking wore on them soon and they asked to turn back.

Possibly exhausting

Along the path are cabins one can rent for the weekend. We passed gatherings of men whom I will assume cohabitated otherwise--not that I am one to judge--drinking and talking around campfires. The cabins sleep at least four on actual beds, I find out later, though they do not have bathrooms en suite; one still must trudge to a communal one a short walk away or get overly friendly with nature. As I am wont to do, I conjured a vision of what it would be like to spend my weekend in one of these cabins with friends, then banished it. I deserve the chance to build these memories, this experience that would trump the night spent unprotected on a wooden platform while insects gnawed on me, but it isn't safe this year. I will slot this away as another thing I will have to do to make up for 2020.

Holly came over the week after, bringing her own chair to sit on our lawn as Amber kept our distance not only from her but one another. (I do not fear infection from my wife, of course, but she was busy grooming our cat and then making stick sculptures and I was trying to avoid direct sunlight.) It seemed almost uncomfortable to see Holly's unmasked face, harsh intimacy.

With the specter of COVID and the distance it forces, there is this overwhelming urge to catch the other person on all that has changed, as though we do not use social media. (As though I, in writing, ever shut up.) Even now, the human connection is once removed. I was not so aware before how physical I am until it was prohibited.

Holly told us of travails with her job, where her union offered to deduct three percent from every member's paycheck if the college would agree to keep three members on staff this year (the college decided that they wanted to have these people off the payroll, even if the payroll would otherwise have been unchanged). She detailed all that has changed in her relationship with Ken, as he moved out as COVID was hitting (though for reasons unrelated). Without this virus, it is difficult to picture where they would be right now, but we do not get to live in that world. Where they are is the only place it can be and, as far as I can see, sounds as though it is for the best of all concerned.

(When I picked up my phone to check in on him, I saw that he had removed me from his social media as a remnant and reminder of Holly. COVID, I sense, had taken more from him.)

Without COVID, I would have seen my friends more often, would have gone to concerts and more hikes, would have watched fireworks beside Amber in Lake George, would soon spend a day and night at the Dutchess County Fair. Without this pandemic, I might still be with the wrong publisher. I would have worked at my job much more often and better connected with my students. But it isn't worth too much introspection because these things did not come to pass.

With Holly, I listened more than I spoke because she had more to say. I have vented in writing and have Amber, at whom I can monologue. Holly sees friends, but she does not have a cohabiting partner (nor do I imagine she ever will again). She needed the words out of her.

We said our goodbyes without hugs, which Holly prefers anyway. Hugs may become an antiquated custom among all but romantic partners, though I hope not (even as I would be fine if I never again had to shake the hand of a student or stranger).

Though it is only August, September is not far behind and winter is waiting around a corner not far enough. Once the snow starts to fall, my chances of the blessing of social interaction will fall with it. Despite my medication and daily application of a UV lamp, winter takes a toll. Without the balm of companionship, this one is certain to hit me far harder than any before. I am trying to build up a supply of friendship in my blood, a reservoir for the cold months.

Soon in Xenology: School resuming, the year growing shorter, apples?

last watched: The OA
reading: Blindsight