Plague Journal, The Social Vaccuum
Today, Saturday begins almost as if the abstraction, the day of the week label is useless, without significance. The routine of work, the necessary expenditure of effort with others, to meet basic needs, — having been interrupted by a quarantine, any day seems like any other. 
The distinction is lost, of work schedules texturing the arc of time. What day is it? I’m not sure. Like a four legged mammal that lives literally one day at a time my awareness contracts to the immediate. The “to do” list is very short when 
only things at hand are possible.
I am learning the importance of my bonds with others, how important to my well being, to the wider meaning of my life, is the check-out person at Menards, the store clerk at Jewel, the waitress who takes my order at Brianna’s Pancake House. What about the unseen many, those instrumental to providing the household fixture that I purchased at Home Depot? The unseen individual might well live in China, 
working on an assembly line fastening together parts, or packing shipping boxes, or loading containers on a giant freighter. Does he or she live in a tiny apartment in Wuhan, or care for a young child? Someone drove an eighteen wheeler across the Rockies to a warehouse. The fixture was then delivered to the store near me. Does he still have dreams after the 
years of driving? What does life mean to him or her? Hundreds of people all connected to me, are represented by that fixture which meets my need, which makes my life better.
I ought to build an altar within my house,
a reminder to offer thanksgiving every day
for all those who contribute to my humanity,
to my capacity to live the safe and comfortable life that I have.
The core of the world, the beating heart of my reality
is the social bond that I have with others.
