Items

• 
  2020-02-25

  Covid journal, 2020-2023

  From the beginning, I was aware that this was a world historical event and I wanted to be very attentive to how it played out, both in the news and in my personal life. I read that diaries were scarce in the aftermath of the 1917 pandemic, so it could be useful to scholars to create one this time. I reviewed it before submission, and it reminded me of many things I had already forgotten. Once I started in February 2020, I wrote every day until mid-2021, when entries began to thin out.
• 
  2020-04-01

  Coronavirus Journal: April 2020

  The essay is composed of entries from my daily journal during the month of April 2020, at the beginning of the pandemic quarantine. It shares the perspective of my partner and me, retired senior citizens in Up North Michigan.
• 
  2020-04

  2020 Planner

  This bullet journal, titled "Keep It Together," was created fresh after moving states in January of 2020. January through February are well organized, with the planner I drew out having individual days, and places for grocery lists, to-do lists and monthly goals. Even March keeps the same energy, stretching into the beginning of the pandemic, but April comes with a great shift. What was once a detailed planner has lost any sense of time, becoming an amalgamation of grocery lists for vague weeks, stream-of-consciousness poetry, and abandoned bullet lists of brainstorming what to do with my life...only for the journal to snap back into focus at the end of July, continuing its main function as a planner, what with less frills than before. This mirrors my own experience in 2020, as April-July was the period of time I spent alone, living in a new city, working at a fast food job that did not stop when the rest of the world did. I felt very much like my journal, unmoored and adrift, until a change in job and living situation and deciding to go back to school helped bring me some sense of purpose again.
• 
  2022-01-10

  Journal from an NAU student

  My journal is a week by week deptiction of my everyday life going to college during an pandemic
• 
  2021-10-08

  My Pandemic Life

  My name is Ella Bowman and I’m 12 years old, I currently reside in Nampa, Idaho. I like to ride horses, be adventurous, read, and I like cooking and baking with my grandma. I currently go to Lone Star middle school, my elementary school I went to when Covid hit was Willow Creek Elementary. And I’ve lived through history. I like to think that my experience with Covid was a lot better than most people but like everyone, I had challenges. When Covid hit, I was in the fifth grade. I was sick before my school went to online completely. However, I just had the cold, not coronavirus. I believe it was a Friday, everyone was given the option to return to school. I went to school and half the school wasn’t there. To this day, I remember that day. The day before that Friday I never saw my childhood best friend, Shelby, again. She moved schools and wasn’t there on Friday. I had class at the kitchen table, on the floor of my room, on my bed, at my desk, or outside. I didn’t begin middle school like a normal year. My first day was online, and I didn’t get to do any of the fun things my brother would talk about. Last year, we had 5 first days of school: back and forth: online, in-person, half days, and 4 days a week. We had to wear masks all day, and they were strict about it. We had one-way hallways, which made sure we got our steps in. Everyone living through this pandemic always knows that whenever someone is gone for two weeks, they either have Covid or something related like that. Something that we also know very clearly is that we all must keep 6 feet distance. The beginning of this school year is a lot better, Covid wise. Masks are optional, we get lockers, and we’re less strict with rules like last year. We don’t have one-way hallways, and we get 10 to a table. Last year it was only 3 to a table. This year is truly like my first year of middle school but altered. I would agree that from 4th grade to 7th grade, things have changed. When I was in fourth grade, I had no caring concern in the world. I had so many fun memories in elementary school and when the pandemic struck, I was worried all that would go away. I had a “Fortnite” phase in the 5th grade, so during the mandatory two-week quarantine, I played video games. Then again, I’m sure every kid played Fortnite at one point. I remember when my family was stocking up for food, I kid you not, the shelves were empty. Some would totally believe me and others it would be harder for people to wrap their heads around. A lot of perishables were stripped off the shelves. My parents like to playthings safe. They wouldn’t let me touch anything in the stores, and I couldn’t hang out with my friends, unless if we wear masks. My friends came over with masks and we hung out outside. In the rain. Yes, it was raining that day, but we wanted to hang out outside. We had a campfire, we put an umbrella over it but stopped because the umbrella was getting hot. So, my friends and I went to great lengths to have fun during the pandemic. Also, I was pen pals with one of my friends, and our group of friends held Zoom meetings so we could chat. My grandpa also took this situation very seriously. For a whole year, I couldn’t get more within 6 feet of them and couldn’t go into their house. When they finally got the vaccine, I was able to see them. However, just because I didn’t have a super hard time doesn’t mean other people didn’t. The suicide rates came up, more people were dying than being born, and people legitimately became animals. I had a friend who wanted to commit suicide, myself. The world has changed: some in good, some in bad. Something that truly did help me process a lot of this was just simply writing it down. Journaling helps a lot, and I tried to document a lot of the experience. My dad likes to make sure that his family has a good experience and life, so he took us on drives and fishing. Things that you can do without being in a crowd. I had it a lot better than most people, but I still had an experience with the pandemic. All in all, I’m glad I had this experience. I’m glad I lived through history and I’m glad that I have a story to tell.
• 
  2021-05-21

  The life of an ordinary person in the epidemic

  It is a warning to help people appreciate life and be in awe of nature once more. This incident changed my perspective on a world that was totally different from what I had expected. For example, tensions between parties, nations, and races, as well as resistance and compromise between humans and power, all motivated me to consider the meaning of survival and fight.
• 
  2021-02-14

  Journal - Starting the Service Industry Collection

  This journal entry excerpt, written in February, expresses my frustrations with the experiences my friends and I have had working in the service industry during the pandemic, and why it is important to document that experience. During a time in which there has been a great deal of coverage about working from home, those of us without the option to had to adapt to the new procedures in an attempt to keep ourselves safe, and were often met with more aggression and defensiveness from customers than before. While some of this entry is me airing my frustrations, it gives insight into how I was feeling at the end of my time working for the service industry.
• 
  2021-03-17

  A Child’s Reflection

  We’ve had my 10 year daughter journal her thoughts during the past year from time to time, and they’ve ranged from mundane (“we made a fort”) to outraged (“Black people are being hurt in this country and not being heard”), so I was curious what her reflection on a year in quarantine would be. Interestingly, her reflection is overall positive. This surprised me a bit, since she is doing online learning through the end of the school year, missed an entire season of competitive gymnastics and has not had a Girl Scout meeting in person in over a year. I’ll admit I’m relieved that her inner thoughts are about Minecraft, playing in our flooded backyard, and continuing to practice gymnastics at home rather than focusing on all that she’s missed. It makes me think that though this year has impacted my kids that to them, their childhood is still pretty normal. Now I just have to break it to her that when she returns to in person instruction next year, she won’t be able to listen to her music during class!
• 
  2020-05

  Weekly Planner

  Attached is a picture of my planner from May of last year. I have always tried to keep a journal of some sort but over the past few years entries in my actual journal have become more sporadic, and I sometimes feel bad that I'm not documenting my life better. But I have found that I keep my memories and experiences in different ways. I keep post-its and planners and notes from past classes, all of which contain some view into a different time of my life. This page in my planner was probably drawn during class, or while waiting for another class to start. The goldfish stickers were there before I wrote the words around them, I'm pretty sure. Looking back now I could say maybe the goldfish and the misconception about their memory is a comment on the way isolation and lack of enrichment affects memory, but really I just had them nearby and thought they were cool. At this point the monotony of quarantine and online school and being out of work made a planner feel kind of superfluous and each page was less like an organized look at my week and more like a dumping ground for my thoughts. The speech bubbles near the fish read: "(I love you guys)" "What?" "I said let's count down so we can all sign off together!" Since moving back to my parent's house in March I haven't seen any of my friends in person. It's been nearly a year of movie nights over discord, all of us counting down and trying to press play at the same time despite the latency. There's a certain intimacy of talking to someone late into the night from my bedroom, surrounded by artifacts of my high school life. I'm afraid for myself and afraid for my friends but we don't talk about the big scary thing looming over all of us. It's been nearly a year and the space in between now and February feels both infinite and microscopic. I am still, but time goes on. I remember that I wrote "One day I will be disappointed (spelled incorrectly) I did not document history better" later in the week. Memory is fragile and I want to preserve it the best I can but lately I'm too tired to take down the details of each day. Maybe this vague collection of my thoughts will be valuable to future me, but I won't know until then so I'll hold onto it anyway.
• 
  2021-01-17

  My Covid-19 Experience

  The essay I've submitted demonstrates the societal issues that the pandemic has helped to unmask as well as serving as a personal documentation of my own journey.
• 2020-12-01

  Journaling Through COVID

  It was probably late March this year when I realized the pandemic was much bigger than anyone could have predicted. On the 16th, when my school district and the whole of the country went into emergency lockdown for three weeks, it just felt surreal, as if there was no way any of this was actually happening. Still as cases started rising day by day, I’d watch the graph as it went up and down, counting the COVID cases as they happened. I’d track the global progress in dealing with the pandemic, taking in every new piece of information about it, my mind buzzing and eventually pounding with everything happening around me. To say the least, it wasn’t long before I quickly became overwhelmed with the weight of everything around me, beginning April. It was around that time when I found my journal, a small navy colored book, probably costing about a dollar, yet worth so much more. Before the pandemic began, I rarely used a journal or any physical book to organize my thoughts; I’d just sometimes use the notes app on my phone. But, as the pandemic snowballed into what it is now, and I felt my relationship with the world around me changing, I quickly realized I needed an outlet specifically designed to help me process my thoughts. A new news story in this crazy year would pop up. I wrote something down. I graduated high school in a cramped car packed with my family in a traffic line of people I couldn’t really recognize, instead of a crowded stadium with everyone I’ve known since I was eleven. I wrote something down. I celebrated my 18th birthday in a socially-distanced way, instead of going out with my friends. I wrote something down. Starting college, two states away from my school, beginning what’s supposed to be one of the best experiences, alone. I wrote something down. And, yet, feeling guilty, writing all of this, knowing and understanding that I am still incredibly fortunate and lucky to be surrounded by those who love me, and I them. I write something down. Whether I realized it or not at the time, journaling really became a therapy to calm my already anxious mind from overthinking, as it slowed me down enough to process the surrounding changes. My journal was one of the few things, one of the few spaces in this new lifestyle, that I felt I had complete control over. No matter what was going on outside, and as much as I’m trying to learn more about everything that comes up this year, taking it in while still also taking care of my mental health, I suddenly found this space where I could just think, say, and write what I feel. More than just a place to process my thoughts, which is what I usually take from writing, my journal just became an extension of myself, a comfort that I didn’t know I needed, as I was able to take things one step at a time. In a world of judgement and chaos, I could return to a place where there was order, and I could say what I wanted, how I really felt about so many things changing at once, all out of my grasp. I’m safe there. And, when I wasn’t writing what I was feeling or thinking at that moment, but still needed an escape, I'd use this journal, alongside my sketchbook, adding in aimless doodles or spending time actually sketching. In the same way one reads books to learn a new truth or escape reality, I did so too for just long enough to gain control of my feelings before diving back into a world too big to understand. It was, and still is, the middle ground connecting my quarantine space with the world around me. But, perhaps one of the biggest advantages of documenting this journey is that now I have this time capsule of what I was feeling, what I’m still feeling about this entire crisis and how I’ve been dealing with it. It’s a piece of me that will always reflect my own perspective amongst everyone else’s voices and stories throughout all of this chaos, and I get to hold onto it forever. So going forwards, journaling is something that I hope I can always return to, especially in times of stress or anxiety, for the value and journey of reflecting on self-identity is one that will always remain priceless.
• 
  2020-10-07

  Angry journal entry

  Transcript: It’s been a wild like week and a half. The Grand Tetons are so fucking beautiful. I want to look at seasonal work there in the summer. Yellowstone is pretty dope as well, but I am fully obsessed with the Tetons. I spent like an entire week in that area, then I went to salt lake city and spent the night with aunt Debbie (first shower in like two weeks) and now I’m at little grand canyon, which is a dope random spot, Last Tuesday was the first presidential debate, which was a shit show. Trump couldn’t stop talking for more than like twenty seconds. Today was the vice presidential debate, which was also a mess, but not as bad. The star of the show was a fly on Pence’s head. But, the real news is that Trump has COVID. He was diagnosed last Tuesday and then ended up being brought to the hospital, He only stayed in the hospital before he went back to the White House, which he entered without a mask. I’m really kicking myself that I didn’t write this week. But it's been weird for sure. There was a lot of speculation at first that he was faking it, but after seeing a video of him, he definitely has me. What scares me is how this will change his attitude. He keeps telling people “not to be afraid” of it. This man had an entire team of doctors using experimental treatments and he has the audacity to tell people not to be scared. It’s disgusting. My first journal entry that mentioned COVID was from March 1st, 2020. I was complaining about the fact that my spring break school trip to Madrid might get canceled (spoiler alert, it did.) there were another one or two entries pretty much just ranting, and then on April 5th I wrote my first entry consciously thinking about the long term impacts of Corona. Well, I say long term, but at that point, I still thought COVID was going to go away by summer. I’ve never been the type of person who’s good at routine, so I don’t write every night, but since then I’ve been journaling at least once every few weeks. In this way I’ve been curating my own personal archive since pretty much the beginning of the pandemic, engaging with ethical archiving practices by thinking (sometimes intentionally sometimes not) about what I deem important enough to include in my ‘archive’, which in this case is my journal. This specific entry also illustrates the significance of the election and also the impact that covid has had on everyone up to the president.
• 2020-02

  Life Before the Pandemic

  Before the pandemic, I had a typical life. I had to wake up at around 6-6:30am to be able to get to school, which was 40 or so minutes away from our house. I drove in our new Tesla with my dad who worked at Joni and Friends. I also had begun carpooling with my friend Carly. We would sit in the back seats together as we talked about a fandom that we're both in and met through. Sometimes I would draw on ibisPaintX with my iPad mini with a stylus and a glove I crocheted that goes around my wrist and only extends over my pinkie finger so that when I rest my hand on the screen it doesn't interfere with the program. Sometimes I would crochet little dolls. After school, I would either have volleyball practice, go to Carly's house, or go to my father's work and do homework, play games, or read fanfictions while he finished his work day. If I had volleyball, I would sit at the pickup place while I waited for my dad and he would come pick me up and take me home. At home, I would eat, shower, read a bit possibly, and go to bed. The fist clue I got about my life changing was the news of the quarantined ship from China. At the time, it was just another 'oh look at them, that must suck, oh well' news report but it soon escalated into 'everyone is quarantined now'
• 
  2020-10-08

  LitCovid- open access database to new and peer reviewed literature

  LitCovid is a website created by the NIH to provide free access to all academic papers and studies published to PubMed about COVID-19. The database makes it easy to search for specific types of studies, and is broken down into different categories (such as mechanism, transmission, prevention, and forecasting). It is quite jargon-heavy since it is a collection of academic papers, but can be really useful for learning more about the disease.
• 2020-08-25

  Classes in Covid times

  In some ways, the beginning of classes in this new age of ours is now all that different than in the past: we spend a lot of time going over the syllabus and being warned against plagiarism. But even in these early days of the semester, when not much of real consequence has happened, the differences are also readily apparent. While most of my professors have opted for maintaining synchronous class meetings through virtual means and otherwise trying conduct online classes as similarly to in person ones as possible, those virtual means produce a distancing effect. We may be able to see each other to a certain extent, though not everyone chooses to use their camera, but it is impossible to clearly read anyone's body language or for free flowing discussion to truly happen. We may all be in the same virtual place but we cannot truly form any sort of community under these circumstances. This is not to advocate for in person classes to resume- I fully understand the reasons for circumstances being as they are-but rather to note the loss of intangible things.
• 
  2020-03-16

  COVID-19 Extracts from Personal Journal

  Mid-March. Thinking about all the things that have previously worried me this year that now seem mild and hilarious: moving alone to Tasmania; starting my PhD at a new university and finally meeting my supervisors; turning 28 (haha, actually). Now: Global pandemic; getting really sick; my loved ones getting really sick; state borders closing and being unable to return home even if I want to; my loved ones getting sick and not being able to travel to see them; the economy is destroyed, again. Late-March. It is what it is. What a rollercoaster this year has been, and we're not yet three months in. I've been staying home in self-quarantine for a few weeks now. The days are distinct for twenty-four hours; in the mornings I can recall the previous mornings; the afternoons, the afternoons. Every day I wake around 10am, at some point I paint, make food, drink coffee, stand on the balcony and gaze at the view. At the dining table J plays Catan ("it's your turn"; maniacal laughter; the sound of sawing) while I read. B set up the gym in the spare room and is continually showing me exercises effortlessly, while I struggle on a single push up. We stack wood in the woodshed, B and I come up with names for movies replacing words with toilet paper in one of a million Facebook challenges to bubble up during a time when all we have is time, and after weeks of watching the PM’s announcements as a house, we have all gradually stopped paying attention to the news. What is happening in Tasmania? That's all we care about anymore. I call home and [my parents] are cheery, full of house-plans and routine amidst the uncertainty. Recently J and I were discussing how we have different word associations - prior to all this I saw virus as being inherently technological, a computer term; he saw it as a verb, something penetrating and spreading. He said he felt concerned that we all use the same term but we might all be meaning different things, so how can anyone authentically communicate? I feel that inherently at the moment. I have a wonderful Zoom call with D and D and they are jovial, laughing, but also patient and understanding with my PhD fog. (Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am doing one at all, and it zips back into consciousness with surprise: wait, you're doing it? Now? All you do is sit in your house.) University is at least some kind of consistency. I write to M and A, I paint zealous red gouache flowers on the envelopes, I run to the post box and hold my hand out in the air after touching the handle as though drenched with invisible miasma. J and I collect pine cones at the Domain. When strangers approach from a distance every part of me screams stay away! They seem to walk directly towards us, magnetised, a collision course, and it is always our job to duck and weave to avoid crashing. Crashing means ‘breathing near’. Mid-April. I ask J how many weeks it has been not leaving the house. "I don't know", he says."Four? Five?" We count backwards. I was free on my birthday; the last time I went out for anything was a week after that, Me Wah. J remembers. "At least you got to sit in a restaurant", he says. He remembers mine and B's conversation to the word. I sense his mind is doing backflips in the emptiness, while mine is hazy and soft, a kaleidoscope of dreaming and staring into the flickering flames of our fire, looking at the soft Ghibli rain over the city, staring into never-ending mugs of steaming tea. There’s no need to ever be fully awake. We watch movies B picks out on Netflix (Psychokinesis; A Quiet Place), sip homemade cherry liqueur. We share treats. Occasionally we leave the house in an anxious flurry. People either look nervously as we pass them in the aisle, or not at all; oblivious, they bang into other people, walk aggressively, lean too close. J is frustrated and rattled. "I'm really grumpy", he says, roaring his car into the street. B and I silently look for teddy bears in the windows of people's houses. In our neighbour’s window is a brightly painted sign, ‘Thank you health care workers!’ One particularly cagey afternoon (of golden sun licking the garden in early April, flecked summer shadows, all a warm 20 degrees) I walk. I walk around the Domain and lip sync to repetitive pop songs and take photos of the trees and a fat rainbow parrot, and I move into the dirt to avoid people, always watching, mapping trajectories and walking speed in space. I get home sunburnt and make a fluffy coffee, drink it in the sun on the deck while J pulls up our kale and spinach and gives it to me to munch, pops the heads of tiny caterpillars with his thumbnail. He leaves one for me to do and when I squish it green blood splashes like a poorly made film crime scene pool, obnoxiously overflowing. There are many places I could be during all this that would be worse than here. Mid-May. This is new. The pressure has completely released. I don’t feel on-edge for a millisecond, instead deeply slow and content and watchful. Given-up and exhausted. When I was deeply drunk I looked around my room tearfully (a clear theme these days) and touched my hand to the wall and thanked the spirits of this old house, whether they were listening or not, the echoes and shadows and fingerprints and DNA of those who came before, for having me, and for their care during this time. After the months I have spent within this house I can’t not anthropomorphize the walls. It was a wider gratitude - for the dappled sunlight on the plants on the ledge in the kitchen, for the depths of the crackling fire, watching it lick and munch at the dry logs, for the deep sea breeze coming up our street, for the view of the houses and the stone church and the pines and the mountain drifting beyond the clouds, for the thick fat roses persevering deep into the late autumn, for the brass-golden sun burning my skin lightly in the late afternoon, for everything delicate and rare and wonderful I have been contained with on this property. While coronavirus is rapidly disappearing in Tasmania (knock on wood, we say, tapping our knuckles on the table, and then on our own heads) the rest of the world is gripped in it. Domestic travel is looking possible by July, at the earliest - international not until 2023, so likely after my PhD is concluded. For now, the directive is clear: stay put and stay healthy and don’t spread. Inspired by the frontliners M is considering doing a two-year intensive nursing degree, so by the time we’re both finished perhaps the world will be opened and we can move around and see it. Who knows what the future will bring - and this year, more than any other, the year the word ‘unprecedented’ was thrown around frantically, this holds true. Late-May. Today was nice. I walked aimlessly around the city, bought a coffee from Two Folks and waited eagerly in the alley for it to be ready since only one person could stand in front of the register on the X-marked tape at any given time (the childish thrill of in-person commerce); bought soap from Lush and laughed with the girl with sky-blue ombre hair behind the plexiglass - “Thank you for keeping me in a job!”, she said. People on the street seemed ready to smile at the slightest glance. There is a relieved, selfish joy in the air. At night I drank a bottle of wine and watched It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and as I always have laughed at every dark moment, and things felt preciously safe in this tiny pocket of the world.
• 
  2020-04-07

  Coronacles of Sophia Michela Di Giacomo age 12

  The journal speaks about different challenges that many people, including myself, have been experiencing over the duration the the COVID-19 pandemic. This journal may become beneficial for historical research in the future, hence why it has been submitted.
• 
  2020

  COVID 19 journal

  This is a journal I wrote my self for a school assignment to recount what it was like living through the COVID 19 crisis