Housebound - Day 7
Man, I am saving a ton of money on razor blades!
Just to be serious here for a second, when--in the months and probably years to come--we look back on this time in our shared history, I believe the experts will note something truly remarkable.
To paraphrase Winston Churchill, Never have so many had more time for personal grooming, and less of a need to do so.
Because where are we going? Nowhere. And who are we impressing? Nobody.
And speaking of grooming.
When I got out of the shower today--at 11 am, because 11 is the new 8--I looked in the mirror. To my shock and horror: Is that gray hair I see? Covid-based, anxiety-driven gray hair? No, no, it’s just the sunlight! Filtering through the window!
Except it’s pouring rain.
Turns out, I’m going blond. Nice!
I don’t know about you, dear housebound reader, but I am not sleeping well. Not. At. All. Even worse than usual, and that’s saying something. The drinking never helps, of course (though it always seems like such a good idea at the time, doesn’t it?) I’ve tried counting sheep. But somehow, the sheep always end up as dead carcasses stacked like cord wood outside emergency rooms.
Is it anxiety?
Of course it’s f-ing anxiety! Every time I clear my throat, I’m secretly listening for a death rattle.
Then, of course, after a few anxious minutes, I calm down. Regular ole’ flu kills tens of thousands each year! I tell myself. (What does it say about our times that that widely-cited statistic counts as the good news?) We don’t shut down the schools all winter, do we? The economy doesn’t grind to a halt for seasonal flu, does it? Cases are falling in China! Canada closed the border? Hell, they were undercharging for our yogurt anyway, weren’t they? Or something? Who needs ‘em!
And then--just as I begin to think positive--my wife is kind enough to inform me that her colleagues are microwaving their paper money! Cooking the cash! I swear I am not making this up. So, now I’m thinking, is this like a bag of popcorn, where you need to stand next to the microwave and listen closely to make sure your Jacksons don’t start burning? Wouldn’t boiling them be safer? Should the water be salted first?
The irony of this whole thing is that, as a writer, when I go into the office I close my door to be alone, and undistracted, so I can concentrate. Now I’m in enforced semi-isolation and oh how I miss my loud inconsiderate colleagues! Well, miss may be too strong a word. But I hope they are all staying healthy.
My office plants, on the other hand, are likely dead. We’ve finally discovered something that can kill a spider plant: COVID-19.
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You know who I am, right? It's in the "bio" section. I'm the guy stuck at home.