Weary of masks, boosters and changing guidances?

Fed up with all the fighting, falsehoods and fuss?

I know I am. Nothing would please me more than to go back to the way things were. Those were more reasonable times. More than two years into COVID-19, the pre-pandemic days seem quaint.

So sure, count me among those who are done with this.

Except there’s one problem. The pandemic isn’t done with me.

I tested positive for COVID-19. Thus far, the symptoms I’ve endured have been mild and lack many of the tell-tale effects that others have experienced. But the virus is no longer an abstract topic of discussion. I’m in this thing now.

Aside from being ill, I’m annoyed. I look back at the initial vaccine rollout a little over a year ago, saw how quickly COVID cases went down as a result, but then realized that we missed our chance to beat this thing as too few people rolled up their sleeves for a shot.

Wave after wave followed, and we’re getting ready to ride yet another ’Rona roller coaster as the omicron variant’s latest spawn — BA.2 and BA.2.12.1 — take hold in the U.S.

What will that look like? It’s hard to say, but here are some facts that might illuminate how the rest of our spring and summer will go.

You might remember a few months back when some people were comparing the omicron variant to measles in terms of transmissibility. That’s not entirely accurate.

Measles, one of the more highly contagious viruses out there, can spread from one person to 15 others over a period of 12 days. That’s pretty bad, and far worse than COVID-19’s initial variants.

Omicron, however, can spread from one person to 216 others in that same timeframe. It’s so potent that it has found ways to crack China’s “zero COVID” measures and is now infecting 30,000 people a day there, even with some of the most heavy-handed lockdown measures on the planet. At its height in the U.S., daily case numbers spiked close to a million before coming back to earth.

Omicron’s new sub-variants — now circulating more widely in America’s northeastern states — are said to be about 30% more infectious than that.

And lest you be tempted to think that’s just a blue state problem right now, those two sub-variants make up about 90% of all new COVID-19 cases in the U.S. now.

It might not get as bad as last winter this time around. About two-thirds of the U.S. population is fully vaccinated, and more than 77% have at least one dose.

With millions of people having been infected by omicron, there’s another chunk of the population that has some degree of immunity, though we know that’s no guarantee against reinfection.

Overall, these factors might lessen the impact of the next coronavirus wave. But that’s not the whole story.

The American response to the pandemic now is a mixed bag. In Philadelphia, mask mandates for public indoor spaces were reinstated after the city saw a 240% increase in new COVID-19 cases. I wouldn’t be surprised if other cities and some states follow suit.

But other parts of the country won’t. Pandemic mitigation is politically radioactive in much of the South, Midwest and interior West. Politicians, pundits and preachers have made a lot of hay decrying mask and vaccine mandates. The cultural inertia opposing public health measures is strong in much of the country.

On a national scale, a federal judge ruled that mask mandates for public transportation were unlawful. After the ruling was announced, American Airlines, United Airlines, Delta Airlines and Amtrak relaxed rules to make mask usage optional.

Outside of the small but loud crowd crying “oppression!”, people are weary of it all. The vast majority of COVID-19 sufferers are a lot like me: mild symptoms not much different from other illnesses that didn’t stop the world, and the virus is increasingly viewed as a permanent part of our world that we have to live with.

The virus’ randomness is why it’s so sneaky. In gambling terminology, it’s a game of roulette where the odds of survival and full recovery are heavily in our favor. If it killed 1 out of 4 people it infected, or perhaps left half its victims with some sort of permanent disability, it would be a different story.

But that’s not been the case thus far, and people’s personal stories about it tend to overpower COVID-19’s mind-boggling statistics.

It’s killed nearly a million Americans and left perhaps millions more with debilitating “long COVID” maladies. No matter. Personal anecdotes tend to trump statistics and second-hand stories. For people not personally affected with the death of a loved one, or a close call themselves, the tragedy of COVID-19 is out of sight and out of mind.

As for me, I’m grateful yet concerned. I’m relieved that this sickness hasn’t been worse for me. I credit that to vaccination, a good diet, plenty of exercise and an overall good state of health. When it’s time for another booster, I’ll get one, and I’ll pay heed to public health guidelines. All of this has served me well for the past two-plus years.

But I wonder what the future holds. Viruses sometimes come back to haunt us years, even decades, after infection. Kids sickened with chicken pox sometimes develop shingles later in life. Human papillomavirus was once seen as a minor deal, but we now know it can be a precursor to cervical and other cancers.

What long-term surprises await us with a virus that’s been known to attack the lungs, heart, kidneys, liver and brain? How will future variants behave? When will the pandemic end? No one knows.

Certainty boils down to a couple of things for me. Generally speaking, people are done with the pandemic. But the pandemic isn’t done with us.

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