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The other day, I ran to the grocery store. I won’t post pictures, because I don’t take them. I hate shopping. Which is weird for me, because Target with a Starbucks solo used to be my dream preschool morning.

Shopping gives me anxiety, a ball of nerves bubbling in my chest. Too many people. So many germs. And any or all of them could be coming down with or recovering from or an asymptomatic carried of this awful virus.

I don’t love it.

I wear gloves, I have my own wipes. I bring hand sanitizer. If I need my phone, it stays in one hand, and I grab everything else with the other. If I don’t, it stays in my pocket with my car key and it gets a thorough wipe down when I leave.

And I don’t take photos.

But that’s not the point, and neither is the immense anxiety I feel when there’s something we’re out of at home. The point is, that for the first time since this whole thing started, I went to the grocery store and it was almost full. Granted, I didn’t leisurely stroll the aisles and take note of the stock of everything, but the limited list of things I was looking for, and the things I passed on the way were all there. There was meat galore. Produce. Milk and eggs.

It was almost normal.

Until I got to my car, wiped it all down, disposed of my gloves, bathed in hand sanitizer, and changed immediately upon getting home. But it was almost normal.

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