But two weeks and some 650 days into “flattening the curve,” I’m done. I don’t care what cable news is blaring on about these days: In this house, Covid is over. On New Year’s Eve, do you know who we hosted? Two beloved friends who were positive for Omicron and stuck at home alone with mild colds. I feel great about that decision. (And I’m still negative.)

But I’m out of step with my city. When I am asked to show my vaccine card at a bar—even though that says nothing about whether or not I’m actively transmitting Covid—I want to laugh. When I eat at a restaurant where the diners are unmasked but the staff are forced to don stormtrooper headgear and gloves, I wonder if people realize what this looks like. Or when friends ask me to swab my nose so we can hang out, well, I’ll do it only because I try to be polite.

Those of you reading this in states like Florida and Texas are probably patting yourself on the backs for your wise life choices. Which, fair enough. But for many of us in America, our lives are still being controlled by the pandemic. And the irrationality of the policies and conversations around Covid—irrationality that comes from our public health authorities, from our schools and our workplaces, from our local governments and our media—is making skeptics out of even the most compliant.