We are outliers still wearing masks to all indoor venues. It feels weird, but it also feels normal, and only one or two people have ever asked me a question about it. I assume they think I am immunocompromised--and they're right, since I can pick up a cold from just being breathed on, and did notably during one trip abroad. That was so not fun.
We're going to wear our masks in the airport and on the plane to Europe this summer, too, although I probably will take mine off sometime during the flight. I hate those hellish redye flights to Europe. Even in first class, which in the past sometimes we paid for with frequent flyer miles, they're still horrible experiences. And being sleep-deprived has been a sure way for me to get sick. I'll probably end up having to stay for another week or two in expensive isolation somewhere.
Unfortunately, the urgency of any long Covid research isn't great as compared to the resources marshaled to find a basic Covid vaccine. Yet for a writer, the thought of dying is probably less horrible than the thought of being alive yet unable to write. I believe that's the basic reason Hemmingway killed himself.