Shortly before Christmas last year, I sent a message to Jeff Sharlet, a writer I don’t know, thanking him for memorializing the dead. It was a Sunday night, past 2 a.m., and though I can’t remember the specific thing keeping me awake I know its basic contours. Most every feeling I’ve had this year is a shifting arrangement of terrible, grasping dread and raw disbelief. (And fury, of which I have oceans.) He got back to me shortly before 4 a.m.; he was on the “late shift,” he said, working on a story about what was at that time the comparatively paltry 317,816 Americans who had died of covid-19.
https://jezebel.com/there-is-no-after-1846664027
* 317,816 Americans who had died of covid-19. * posted frequently on Twitter * published in Esquire this March * called “the incalculable” * knows someone who died * are unlikely to return to the workforce * a devastating study * the caption reads. * to inflate personal experience and manufacture trends * how to work from home without ruining your back * Vogue recommends * spoke * provide readers with tips * practice radical acceptance * recommend investing early * grant 50 people control of a massive share of the United States’ wealth * come to work harder for less money