Vaccine Weirdness

I got an appointment for both doses of the Moderna vaccine; the first one is this Saturday.  We'll be driving  about 45 minutes to Casa Grande, to a random Walgreens just off the highway.  

Little Cuter was on it from the early morning, and recruited me to the search via text. The site was clunky and kept crashing and sending error messages and showing three blue dots bouncing at the top of the screen as the site stopped to think. But I managed to get through and answered a few questions and found that there were 9 appointments and 27 appointments and 24 appointments remaining on the first few days that popped up on the screen.  

I might have squealed.

I figured in the drive time and chose one date and then another, one month later.  I printed out my confirmation code and appointment details on two bright white sheets of paper.  I've been carrying them around all day.

There is an end in sight for my total isolation from the world. You'd think I'd feel the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders.  You'd be wrong.  

I spent the entire day full of anxiety.  I kept looking at my papers, checking the dates and the times and looking up the address on Google Maps.  I called the pharmacy to ask which vaccine I'd be getting.  I shared my angst with Little Cuter, who totally understood.

I've been so accustomed to worrying about this virus, for such a long time, that I'm having a hard time letting go.  It makes no sense to my rational self, which self has been gradually asserting itself as the day's gone by.  But the morning and afternoon were filled with worry and concern and trembling hands and free floating anxiety.

The papers are still nearby, but glancing their way is enough to calm me.  The weirdness is passing, slowly but surely.  Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to be really happy.  For now, the fact that my kids are thrilled is enough.