PETERS: Just admit it — we’re all sick of each other

I’m sick of my coworkers. There, I said it. They’re great people who are teammates through and through. And I’m sick of ’em. The proportion of my time spent seeing and conversing with the same dozen or so people at work is just too darn high.

I’m sick of Dr. Bonnie Henry. I’m sick of hearing her talk, I’m sick of her nervous chuckle, I’m sick of her sugar-coated take on reality.

To be clear, this has nothing to do with her competence or her job performance. I don’t have any reason to believe another provincial health officer could have handled the pandemic any better, yet still, I just don’t want to see or hear her anymore. It’s too much.

I would bet good money that Dr. Henry is sick of me, too, or at least all reporters asking her questions. She’s sick of Richard Zussman and Marcella Bernardo and Tanya Fletcher and all of us.

There are plenty of people who are sick of me, too. I’m fully aware of that.

Take my wife as Example Number One. She’s working from home, so often I’m the only adult in-person contact she has in a week. Can you imagine that? Horrifying.

You folks are probably sick of seeing my face and hearing my voice, too. Some of you tell me in subtle ways; others are not so subtle. I accept that. How could I not?

This little rant is more than just an escape valve for all of my inner cynicism and darkness. It’s actually okay to acknowledge that we hate this — we hate all of this.

The pandemic found my last nerve months and months ago, as I’m sure it has yours.

If we acknowledge our impatience with our current situation, maybe we’ll do whatever it takes to put an end to it as quickly as possible. Maybe we’ll take some personal responsibility with our own actions, rather than pushing the limits of what governments will allow.

It’s better to be sick of this than to be actually sick.

by James Peters

PETERS: Just admit it — we’re all sick of each other

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