To shave or not to shave? That is the question. That basically sums up the state of my personal hygiene these days. Two of my friends have great benchmarks for this. One said, “It was getting difficult to sleep.” The other said, “When I can see the hair without my glasses, that’s my cue.” For, me it’s when I go to scratch my leg and get pricked. But, who even has time to shave these days? I have so much time on my hands, yet I have no time at all. That’s the biggest phenomenon of this shelter-in-place lifestyle. When I finally get out of bed after reading tweets, news articles, useless Facebook posts and zoning in and out of whoever is gabbing on MSNBC, it’s about 10 am. Then somehow it’s already 4 pm. I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my time.
As for my attire, I haven’t put on a bra in days; I’m hoping my baggy sweatshirts camouflage the lower quadrants where my nipples actually make contact with the material. My daughter hasn’t screamed in horror yet, so I think it’s working. She’s the only other human I see, so no need to take out the underwire. I haven’t even attempted to get on the scale or put on pants with anything other than a drawstring or elastic waist. I just can’t go there now. This is one, long snowstorm, where carbs jump out from every cabinet, garage shelf and both fridges and freezers. Combine that with my nightly bottle of wine, and I’m sure to earn my Lane Bryant loyalist card soon. I’m so exhausted for no apparent reason that I couldn’t even finish my run today. If this pandemic ever ends, I’m ‘gonna need a big comeback tour, like Britney after she melted down and shaved her head.
Appearance isn’t the only thing that has gone unchecked. My manners may be slipping a bit, too. I’m sure you have all been seeing and receiving the funny Corona-related memes. When I received the same ones at the beginning of this nightmare, I would pretend I hadn’t seen it before. Then, I started saying, “I saw that one. It’s so funny.” Now, I have no filter and write, “That one came out like two weeks ago. Where the fuck have you been?” I swear if I get the one of the Trump impersonator, the quarantini or the lady rolling out her flabby stomach with a rolling pin again, I may burn some rolls of my sacred toilet paper. Even my patience with my poor, quarantined son has been wearing thin. He’s been in his room for over a week, since he had signs of Corona—a low fever for a couple of days and no sense of taste. I bring him every meal on a tray. Just now he asked me for batteries, I almost screamed down the hall, “Get it your fucking self already.”
And joy of joys, today is the day I change my own sheets. I wish I had remembered that before I went running, because I’m basically working out twice today. Making up a king-size bed is no easy task. I need to put on a workout bra just to tuck the corners of my fitted sheet underneath my heavy, thick mattress. My bed has a footboard on it, so I can say goodbye to the skin on my knuckles as I tuck the sheets and blankets in there. My hands are so dry already from the constant washing. Add to that the lack of a manicure, and we’ve now just arrived at leper status. I’ve never appreciated my cleaning woman so much. That woman deserves a raise! If my net worth hadn’t just plummeted in the markets, she’d be getting one. (Okay, I’ll still give her one.) After the doctors, nurses, community leaders, and all the other frontliners, my gratitude is solidly placed in the housekeeper column.
Well, I was just summoned to join a Zoom happy hour. Like I said, besides a 16-year-old begging me if she can see her love interest, it’s pretty much the only human interaction I have. For my sanity, I need to go do that. I bid you all a comfortable isolation with lots of deep breaths, sips of alcohol and chocolate. Stay safe. Oh, and please keep sending me memes. I was kidding! I’ll be nice!
My dedication is obvious. It goes out to all the doctors, nurses, and everyone else putting others’ safety in front of theirs. This is also for the families who have lost people they cherish from this crazy, rampant plague. I’m so very sorry.
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