On a very windy day, trying to regulate my worries about Ukraine and what looks like the beginnings of a huge war on the European continent, and possibly a third world war after 77 years of peace after the end of World War II. And in the middle of a pandemic which is hardly over.

Since taking my last bus ride home from work in March 2020, my life has become ever more reclusive. Last year we managed to get out a little more, met up with a friend, and then the latest COVID surge hit.

As I’ve stated at various times in this blog, I am a Type 1 diabetic. When we were sent home to telecommute, my disease became much easier to manage. For once since I was diagnosed at the age of 42, I finally am able to work full time and rarely need to call in sick. But now, even as Los Angeles lifts indoor mask restrictions, and even as my own employer is still requiring masking indoors and continues to take safety precautions to protect its workforce, even if I would LIKE to go into the office a few times a week to meet and work with colleagues in April as a hybrid arrangement starts, I can’t take the risk.

I have been reading numerous articles about how the most vulnerable are being left behind as politics dictates a return to normal. I am in that vulnerable population. It’s inconceivable, with the fact that even if vaccinated, catching this disease for a person with my health still bodes an uncertain and severe outcome, that anything “normal” will ever exist for me again unless future vaccines for COVID assure ZERO infection.

Between pondering this ongoing “disability” segregation and the possibility of a horrible world war, I came to tears this morning.

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