The paranoia is bad enough, but the sleepless nights, too?


The paranoia is bad enough, but the sleepless nights, too?

I can’t image I’m the only one of us living a paranoid existence. And daily, I find myself with the weirdest timetable during this weirdest of times.

Afraid of my own shadow thanks to the threat of COVID-19 spreading to this weather-beaten body of mine, I rarely venture out of my house anymore. I back away as neighbors talk to me. I have to tell my grandson that I can’t come visit because I’m not 100 percent sure who is in his parents’ circle of friends.

Heck, I hold mail and delivered packages like they’re ticking.

Overly cautious? Not if you’ve been reading the news.

As unnerving as all of the above is to me, the schedule I’m keeping is just absurd.

I’m writing this note to you at 4 a.m. Zero o’clock CVT (Coronavirus Time). I find myself most creative right after dinner. On this day, fish sticks and tomatoes were consumed while watching Larry King hawk a product on TV. At 3 a.m., those infomercials are more entertaining than watching a 15th rerun of the NFL’s top 100 players.

If there’s nothing pressing in regard to coverage for The Enterprise, I often sit on my couch later in the morning in anticipation of “Let’s Make a Deal” and “The Price is Right.”

Sometime around 11 a.m., I return calls, chat with colleagues, may do an interview or two … then I begin to get drowsy. “Whoa! It’s 2 p.m. Past my bedtime.”

And sleep these days? Maybe two hours here, three more there. Nothing is consistent.

Fortunately, I can sleep with the sun shining. However, even when it’s cloudless outside, it doesn’t seem like the sun is shining as brightly as it did five months ago.

As the day slips into darkness, so do I …

My wife has managed to keep a regular routine, and with her in bed by 10, I try not to be watching the tube, conducting interviews or wandering around the house. I try to settle in, but it’s at that time that my thoughts take over and I realize that sleep again is on a distant horizon.

When will I next see my grandkids? What’s going to happen with fall sports? What’s going to become of all those children — especially the less fortunate ones — who need schooling, not just a computer monitor without socialization or individual tutoring?

How long will the pandemic last? What will the world feel like on the other end? Is there enough money in our family’s coffers to survive as solvent? Which of my friends will next be hit with the virus?

Why do I keep reading what President Trump has to say? Why are we still wrestling with social injustice after all these years? Why don’t we ever learn anything?

Then “the good ol’ days” start flashing into my mind. My wedding. The kids. That trip to New York. Friends gone by …

That sleep that I saw on the horizon just a couple of hours before was a mirage.

Suddenly, here I am again. Back at the keyboard … trying to find a way to keep you informed, entertained.

It’s my job to bring you the headlines. And these days, all that responsibility is doing this morning is bringing tears to my eyes:

• “Toronto says Blue Jays can’t play in Canada.”

• “Unmasked party in Fullerton results in 20 coronavirus cases.”

• “Children found equally susceptible to the virus as adults.”

• “Gun violence continues in the U.S.”

• “President says ‘We’ve got this under control…’ “

Who’s this guy God everyone talks about? And when is His Son going to come back?

— Reach sports editor Bruce Gallaudet at 530-320-4456 or via email at [email protected]



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