The perks of a college student is that you can take advantage of what many school-aged children enjoy every year; sweet summer. College student summer is getting to watch Netflix without guilt, spending hours at Target actively avoiding people you know, and overall using those three sweet months of freedom to recover from post-semester trauma. This of course, if you rewind the 2020 tape did not happen.
COVID-19 at the beginning shined a light on how optimistic and naïve I was as an adult.I truly believed that by July we would have everything covered and that the government-even with Trump at the wheel
would perform a Hail, Mary and life would
be normal. Insert laughing, crying, tiny fire, and furious emoji. I welcomed quarantine like a warm comforting blanket at the end of a hard day. I was excited to leave face to face learning and do my classes from the comfort of my own bed. I thought that summer had started early with only a few responsibilities peppered in.
Of course, this was me being arrogant. One week into leaving school I was put on furloughed at my beloved job. I cried at my desk while pretending to sound confident to patrons over the phone that life would return to normal soon. A week later I applied for unemployment benefits. At first I was concerned that I would not be eligible, at the end of the day I was a college student with no set career path and only a few minor jobs under my belt. I was very fortunate to be accepted, but the anxiety of relying on money every Friday concerned me. I felt guilty that I was receiving money, however when each week rolled around, and the money was placed in my bank account It started to feel normal.
Once classes ended, the real battle began at home. I live with three other fully functioning adults who can think for themselves and have different political views. Unlike every other developed nation the United States politicized COVID-19, masks, social distancing, and shut-down measures. The arguing began on what we could or could not do as a family. I refused to eat out, but my parents started meeting friends for drinks at local patios. My brother started work at an establishment that did not require masks. My parents called me chicken-little. I was constantly met with mediocre comments against shut-down and safety measures as well as testing resulting and death counts from my dad. Twitter, Facebook, and the local news cycled in my head constantly. I would refresh, retweet, comment, argue, and share as many articles regarding the pandemic and the governments lack of concern as much as possible. I felt like I was the town crier standing on her own soapbox yelling at an empty towns square.
Next, the panic for my family set in. My mom had a small medical emergency that landed her a stay in the hospital. I freaked. My grandmother who had suffered from pneumonia in January was my main focus. I called her almost every day asking if she felt fine and if she was wearing a mask. I hated the thought of her going to the grocery store or possibly going passed someone who was asymptomatic. I argued with my parents constantly about numbers. They said that we would be fine, but my summer was just filled with anxiety of ‘what if.' Each day was exhausting.
Now a new semester has started. My brain feels as though it took the advice of Trump and injected bleach whilst plopping itself down on a tanning bed. Assignments, discussions, and even lectures feel like added weights to my shoulders.
So when the inevitable question gets asked in regards to my summer, I will simply point to the material that has been so politicized and securely placed over my mouth.
It reads "Back the Fuck Off."
