Journal of the Plague Months
Maybe I’m overreacting, but from the time the Corona virus made its lethal debut in Wuhan, China, I’ve been looking to my President for help. Why? Because the CDC experts have identified me as being in the prime target group for extermination. (I’m not divulging my age beyond admitting that I was born when Herbert Hoover was president; you do the math.)
The death rate is 15% for my age group, so I’m seeking reassurances that I will be spared; I’m working on a book that I have to finish.
True, I got a tremendous number of cheery words from President Trump in many incredible don’t-worry-about-it tweets and on the telly.
Then, just three days ago, Dear Leader said, “A lot of good things are going to happen.” What could that be, I wondered. Had I finally bought the right Lotto ticket? Had Vladimir Putin finally fallen on his sword? Nope to both.
Two days ago the World Health Organization branded the rapidly spreading Corona virus (COVID-19) a pandemic. That really scared me.
Two nights ago our President read to the nation a ten-minute speech to allay our rising fears. He seemed tired. Low-energy. And I didn’t understand much of what he said, except he wants to help out the oil companies and was banning all travel to the U.S from Europe. The latter seemed a rash step to me. Wasn’t the virus already here?
The speech got bad notices, even from Republicans, and although his aides walked back some of what he said, yesterday’s stock market dove into a downward death spiral, taking my pension funds with it. What calamity is next?
You know what? I’m starting to think our President, Donald J. Trump, lies! And probably more than once! Can you believe it?
As your most trusted online reporter, I mean to find out. I promise to get back to you with what I learn, pronto…if not sooner. And please remember this vulnerable aging pauper in your prayers.