It is 3 p.m. in the middle of the workday and my boss needs two things from me. One, I’ve finished. The other I haven’t started yet. In the back of my mind, my worries about all of the other things —the pandemic, my parents, my kid at home in front of the computer, my kid navigating the first year of college — continue in a mad loop. There aren’t enough Lysol wipes to clean off a literal merry-go-round, so that loop is the closest thing I have.