Civilization is Just a Mask

Like many of you during these past few months I've learned it's no longer fun to stay home and bake rock hard, almond flour brownies; I've also had occasional bouts of quiet terror that I've actually contracted coronavirus. These epiphanies usually occur in the dead of night, perhaps when I awaken to go to the bathroom, or get a drink of water, or take a break from sleep in order to worry consciously. At these times I must resist the urge to take my temperature because I know I'm being neurotic, or at least hoping really hard that this is the case and that I am not physically sick.

I now also know there are worse things than worrying about being neurotic, and coronavirus clearly is one of them. Apparently my seasonal battle with what used to be euphemistically called "rose fever" by a kindly physician of my childhood has lingered long into adulthood and the symptoms can parallel viruses. And so because it's once again spring and I choke when outside, I am kind of okay with the anxiety- maybe just another form of the kind of sympathetic magic we employ these days, and maybe it works, at least to calm things. If you worry hard enough,maybe it will all go away. . . .

So as the allergy season continues to just about destroy any equilibrium I once may have enjoyed, and I sneeze and cough and gasp my tired, allergen-infused body through the days with the help of a few highly touted though basically innocuous, barely effective  medications, I've begun thinking about masks- it's also a way to quit obsessing about the virus. 

For starters, barring the inaction of a few miscreants, the masks are mainly everywhere they're supposed to be; and aside from the generic, paper "surgical" type that you throw away and unfortunately find littering the streets, lawns and sidewalks these days, the more substantial coverings come in a huge variety of colors, patterns, shapes, fabrics and fashion statements! For that's what they've become in many instances, a kind of individualized exclamation of one's particular style, belief, cause, or banner. In truth, they've just about replaced t-shirts in their ubiquitous exclamations of identity and cultural preferences. Mouths may be somewhat muffled now, but masks talk!

I've noticed women politicos wearing everything from leopard prints to lilies in soft, silky like materials; the Speaker had one hanging about her throat on TV the other day like a small, expensive finishing touch to her coiffed look (how did she get her hair done??). The President of course makes his own statement by going unmasked and revealing all. Younger members of society seem to cleave to infinity type sports scarves that can be pulled up or down from face to neck with a flick of the wrist, or plain ol' cowboy bandanas (let's keep it simple they say and drive the virus out of town like Gary Cooper in "High Noon"). Black of course still comprises the school colors of New York, and now has  made its happy way across the continent. In essence, a simple black mask is an essential accessory and has become as popular and intrinsic as the little black dress.

I tend to favor throw-aways 'cause I'm lazy but admit to tucking a few more formal, wildly overpriced coverings in my sock drawer as this newest plague may linger on for quite some time we're told, and you never know when you might need one of these. On the other hand, where will I ever have occasion to use such a gorgeous mask? Ordinarily I walk about in my oldest rags these days. Maybe if I start using the more fashionable coverings things will change. I always go back to Joseph Conrad's enduring, unforgettable theme in "Heart of Darkness:" civilization is just a mask anyway. Now we have the literal proof.

So basically, underneath all that nicey niceness we may try to project, dark forces continue to lurk, like teeny, weeny tiny, little microbes wanting to take over your life and well being, and sometimes these forces do not remain underneath and invisible and voila! We have a pandemic. Oh well, might as well take those masks out of the drawer and live now. . . .