As the Coronavirus has embedded our lives by it feeling like a destructive creature, we find we are changing physically, mentally, emotionally, which includes, changing how we live and even how to live through it. We have proven we are strong and have learned to either face it head-on and utilize all the tools that are provided to us or become stagnant members of society.

The way I take this so-called "when life gives you lemons.." situation, I amuse myself with the wondrous observation of just how many creative, crafty and personalized masks we now own and make part of ourselves and our existence, especially when out in public.

My masks, ranging from ordinary blue to paisley black and white, are an extension of myself. I actually like wearing one, particularly in the food stores, for I find myself being able to linger in the aisle and talk to myself as to whether I should buy "chunky" or "creamy" peanut butter; plus, without my having to wear any lipstick is a time-saver, because God knows how long it takes me to pick out a shade.

Another plus to wearing a mask is that I have the unrestrained freedom to sing, in a very low voice, mind you, behind the unassuming cloth, to the music piped through the stores' intercoms. I now can spare the public through my muffled, melodious rendition.

So, if I must take a bad situation and turn it into something positive, I start with my face masks; they are more of a help than a hindrance in the overall expression of myself.

Social awkwardness is a given when approaching an open elevator, stepping inside, and just as the doors are slowly closing, another person dashes into the small box that you call your personal space. Do I make eye contact, smile, nod, acknowledging their existence? Yeah, Why not? I then hit the button and remain staring at it like it's going to change colors or something, then when that gets old, I look at the ceiling and imagine, "what if the elevator got stuck, can I climb up and squeeze through the upper panel like Bruce Willis would do in Die Hard? Just then, the elevator dings, the doors open and I step out. Whew, that was the longest 30 seconds of my life!

Wolf Man...you're my favorite! You didn't choose your violent destiny! It's not your fault that you were bitten by a ravenous wolf; which, unfortunately, turned you into the same during every relentless, full moon.

You, as a man, Larry Talbot (nice looking I might add), with decency and sincerity, tried to warn people that you needed to be locked up, behind closed doors, to keep you from killing innocent people, who may just be in your fateful path. It's not your fault that mankind thought you were crazy! Your acting like a lunatic did you no good!

Sadly, Larry Talbot, aka Wolf Man, you met with a fatal silver bullet. Ironically, that shot was fired, by Gwen, the woman you loved, while you were under the guise of being a wolf in a running pursuit of a frantic and scared woman.

Even in the end, you wouldn't and couldn't hurt Gwen, because you had a gentle heart hidden under that furry exterior; and, you took that final blow as a true testament to your love for her.

So, sadly, I say goodbye, Larry Talbot, aka Wolf Man; your tragic love story lives on in the hearts of those who love the classic, black-and-white horror movies...like me and many, many others Rest in peace, my misunderstood, furry friend.

The cement under my feet is the only constant of which I can depend. I wander along the busy streets observing the steam escaping from the underbelly of the city through the vented manhole covers that hide the secrets of a functioning, well-tuned metropolis.

These last six years, living on the streets, have paralyzed my physical and mental well-being. Losing my job intensified all my ills, including my addiction to alcohol, to a point of self-destruction. I even gambled away all of my liquid assets to achieve that designated goal of financial freedom; needless, to say, that did not happen.

My home went into foreclosure, and my wife and children went on to find a more suitable, more stable place to live without me. My life was in a downward, hostile spiral where I lived in comfortable darkness and isolation.

All those whom I knew and loved had depleted all of their resources, emotions, and support to try to bring me back to the life I once lived. I denounced their efforts to help me and, therefore, rid myself of their existence.

How did I get here? I listlessly walk along the crowded, city streets, clutching my thin jacket to my small frame, where I ever so slightly and quickly look into the eyes of the random passer-by. Some are gentle in their return gaze but most look fearful and repulsed.

I can no longer live under the pretense that, someday, life will return to normal; it is a farce, not a reality! I must come to the realization that not all things in life turn out for the best; well, not for me, anyway.

My struggle and survival have become a nuisance and laden with too much responsibility. I must let go and allow myself to be free of all my turmoil, pain and suffering. I no longer have the will to continue this journey, literally and figuratively; I notice my strides are becoming more stringent and my future more muddled and obscure.

I travel the same streets, see the same places of business, and recognize the same families and neighbors that gather outside of their homes to compare their day’s different events. There, in the midst of sameness and difference, I seek out my place of solitude and seclusion.

Here in the darkness, that envelops me, and in the silence, that seems deafening, I lie down, out of sight, on the harsh and solid concrete that releases its icy blanket beneath me. There are no lights to illuminate my existence so I nestle back into a fetal position, from whence I came out of my mother’s womb, allowing the cruel, cold elements to claim me. As I feel the life draining out of me and numbness traveling through my extremities, my heart rate slows, along with my breaths becoming shallower; I gratefully welcome the long, deep sleep that will finally take me to my celestial home that is not associated with lonely, unforgiving streets.

The cement under my feet is the only constant of which I can depend. I wander along the busy streets observing the steam escaping from the underbelly of the city through the vented manhole covers that hide the secrets of a functioning, well-tuned metropolis.

These last six years, living on the streets, have paralyzed my physical and mental well-being. Losing my job intensified all my ills, including my addiction to alcohol, to a point of self-destruction. I even gambled away all of my liquid assets to achieve that designated goal of financial freedom; needless, to say, that did not happen.

My home went into foreclosure, and my wife and children went on to find a more suitable, more stable place to live without me. My life was in a downward, hostile spiral where I lived in comfortable darkness and isolation.

All those whom I knew and loved had depleted all of their resources, emotions, and support to try to bring me back to the life I once lived. I denounced their efforts to help me and, therefore, rid myself of their existence.

How did I get here? I listlessly walk along the crowded, city streets, clutching my thin jacket to my small frame, where I ever so slightly and quickly look into the eyes of the random passer-by. Some are gentle in their return gaze but most look fearful and repulsed.

I can no longer live under the pretense that, someday, life will return to normal; it is a farce, not a reality! I must come to the realization that not all things in life turn out for the best; well, not for me, anyway.

My struggle and survival have become a nuisance and laden with too much responsibility. I must let go and allow myself to be free of all my turmoil, pain and suffering. I no longer have the will to continue this journey, literally and figuratively; I notice my strides are becoming more stringent and my future more muddled and obscure.

I travel the same streets, see the same places of business, and recognize the same families and neighbors that gather outside of their homes to compare their day’s different events. There, in the midst of sameness and difference, I seek out my place of solitude and seclusion.

Here in the darkness, that envelops me, and in the silence, that seems deafening, I lie down, out of sight, on the harsh and solid concrete that releases its icy blanket beneath me. There are no lights to illuminate my existence so I nestle back into a fetal position, from whence I came out of my mother’s womb, allowing the cruel, cold elements to claim me. As I feel the life draining out of me and the numbness traveling through my extremities, my heart rate slows, along with my breaths becoming shallower; I gratefully welcome the long, deep sleep that will finally take me to my celestial home that is not associated with these lonely, unforgiving streets.