Dear Quarantine Diary

Dear Quarantine Diary;

Can you believe it? Another week down. I don’t know what day it is and frankly I’m not sure why it even matters. We’re still home because the Coronavirus is still beating us and by beating us I mean it’s still killing people. We don’t have a vaccine yet and as far as I can make sense of the reported news it seems as if the antibody test(s) may or may not be all that accurate. Every time I hear Gilead referenced during a press conference my body reacts with a twitch thinking we’re reenacting an episode of The Handmaid’s Tale.

But I’m happy to see people adhering to the guidelines and wearing masks if they must go out. I’ve also noticed masks have replaced fuzzy dice hanging from rearview mirrors. I guess it’s as good a place as any to keep them handy, but riddle me this Quarantine Diary: why are people wearing masks while in the car? Are they concerned they’ll forget to put it on once they arrive at Costco? Aren’t they hot enough from breathing in their own already exhaled breath? Why not at least pull the mask down around your chin so you don’t suffocate while operating a moving vehicle? It’s just a thought, but what do I know?

Quarantine Diary, please forgive me if my grammar is off. In the real world I’m a freak for spelling and punctuation but for the purposes of this diary entry I hope you won’t hold me to the same pre-quarantine standard. Everyone keeps saying, go easy on yourself or be kind to your mind during this time of uncertainty so if I end up with more run on sentences than usual I guess you won’t judge me, right? After all, you’re my diary; it’s your job to not judge, isn’t it? Thanks QD.

Anyway, so yah, it’s been another week of emotional unpolishedness. I heard a few insanely sad stories; all of which left me feeling somewhere between claustrophobic and short of breath. Not the short of breath where one might think it’s Coronavirus symptom related but the kind of shortness of breath which accompanies full blown panic attacks. So yah, that was fun. Hearing multiple stories how the tragic nature of this pandemic has affected people so much so their taking their own lives is a whole other level of tragedy I wasn’t prepared for. It’s a heavy thought but I guess one we must face head on and discuss with our loved ones in a mandatory effort to ensure the people close to us maintain open and honest communication about thoughts and feelings. In my opinion, there’s no limit how many reminders are enough when it comes to the importance of feeling safe to speak up when you’re down. I must have drilled it into my kids’ heads a zillion times this week just to drive the point [permanently] home. Finally they were like, Mom we know; we knowwww. We’ll tell you if we’re upset or nervous or anxious or lonely. We promise. But I still think I gotta keep asking questions and making sure they’re ok.

Quarantine Diary, on a different note, a lighter note, well actually not lighter from a weight loss perspective because I’ve been eating and drinking alcohol more in the last several weeks than when I was in college and it’s now kinda something I need to focus on fixing. It was funny like funny-ha-ha a few weeks ago when everyone else was also laughing and drinking and stuffing their skinny faces. It’s kinda not that funny anymore because well, here’s the skinny; I’m now not that skinny. If I were a boxer, I’d no longer be in the featherweight or even lightweight division. I’d definitely have to move up a class and fight as a middleweight contender. That doesn’t work for my sanity so please Quarantine Diary, please help me get myself back in control. And QD, while you’re helping me with that, can you also help me not want to hurl a left hook at my kids when I hear one of them say, “Hey Mom? Do you think you can make me something to eat?” I’m telling you, it takes every ounce of strength to hold back this rage mode that comes over me. Why does it bother me so much? And another thing, can you try to help me figure out why the new quarantine hysteria has morphed into baking homemade bread? Why is everyone baking bread and then posting pictures on Facebook seeking approval? If I want bread, (which I do) I’m definitely not making it from scratch; I’m adding it to my Instacart list and having it delivered. Obviously.

QD, you wanna know what else is stressing me out? I know I probably mentioned it to you last week but the constant conversations about the same topics over and over are really grating on my last nerve. And my lack of tolerance is at an all time high because the repetition starts immediately; there’s no easing in. The very first question they all say is Hey, what are you up to? That’s what they say. And I think to myself, What? What do you mean, what am I up to? What kind of question is that? What do you think I’m up to? How could I possibly be up to anything other than what you’re up to too? Do you think I just got back from vacation in Europe? Do you want to hear about the fascinating sites and the fine dining? QD, it takes a mental village to not attack with a snarky bite of my already unpolished tongue but honestly, can’t we do better than Hey, what are you up to? And believe you me, it’s not like the conversations I’m craving have to be on par with Mensa intellect; (for Christ’s sake I DVR Vanderpump Rules so clearly my brain is mud) but there’s gotta be a more substantial narrative. There just has to be. But is there? Because we all know we are up to the exact same thing. We are up to our eyeballs in cooking, hence why I’m also “up” five pounds. We are up to our eyeballs in cleaning. And if I’ve gotta have one more conversation about mopping the floor, which was probably my fault for mentioning it in the first place but so what; I’m sick of talking about mops. We are also up to our necks in talking about who’s wiping down groceries and who’s not and how long it takes for a food delivery to arrive. And for the love of God, Quarantine Diary, should lightening strike me now, I beg of you to help us figure out a way to not be up to our very last wits’ end in trying to decipher the fate of summer camp. It either will be on or it will be off. It’ll either happen or it won’t. We will all either be elated or we’ll be devastated.  I. Just. Can’t. Talk. About. Camp. Anymore. And I can’t analyze another letter trying to figure out how it differs from the fourteen other letters people keep sending me from various camps across the Eastern seaboard. Quarantine Diary, please help. Please let’s just get this decision made so we can move on.

And speaking of moving on QD, the truth is I don’t even need the world to go back to how it was. I’m fine with a shift. But let’s make the fucking shift, learn to adapt and get on with our lives. We having living to do. I mean, I have so much living to do and it’s getting harder and harder to do all this living from my living room. It’s actually kind of a stretch to even call my living room a living room. I’d more accurately describe it as just a room where I sit and stare at the television, eat ice cream out of a red Solo® cup and fall asleep on the couch in the same sweatpants I’ve been wearing since St. Patrick’s Day.

Okay Quarantine Diary, alright; I guess that’s it for now. Thanks for letting me vent. I gotta jump on a Zoom.

 

JUST TO LET YOU KNOW…. I don’t really have to jump on a Zoom. I’m sorry I lied. Someone actually said that to me this week toward the end of our phone call and for a split second I couldn’t tell if there really was a Zoom conference waiting in the wings or if in fact I was being blown off because our monotonous conversation had simply reached the point of unsalvageable no return! Regardless if it was true or not, it’s a brilliant line and one I’m definitely incorporating into my bag of unpolished exit strategy tricks for the future.