We’re becoming more and more familiar with what prison life must be like. Can’t, or shouldn’t go out when we so desire. Sitting in a coffee shop, or even going into one, is fast becoming just a memory. We’re getting up at the crack of dawn to go grocery shopping, or for those that are city dwellers, waiting for it to be delivered. Leaving the mail in the box for a few days or weeks to make sure it’s not contaminated. Even filling the gas tank is a rare event. “Curbside service” used to be something special, like valet parking. Now, it’s a staple of life. I even used it this past week to fill the barbeque grill tank. I know – it ran dry last fall and I thought to myself, “I’ll leave it until spring. There’s plenty of time.” Oops. So many things that are now becoming fixtures in our lives – drive-up windows, deliveries on the front porch, stockpiling toilet paper. I really can’t understand that last one. Why are shoppers going nuts with toilet paper? For all advisories, bladder failure isn’t one of the symptoms. Perhaps if you’re taking the President at his word and drinking Windex, maybe. For the rest of us, “business” as usual.
I understand people’s frustrations. We’re bombarded with “symptoms” every day, and just when we think we’ve got a handle on it, like “I’m ok because I’m not running a fever or having headaches”, new ones pop up. There’s nothing scarier than a headline proclaiming, “This case has doctors really puzzled.” Muscle aches, for example. Of course, I’m going to have some aching body parts – I’m old. And I’ve been using this time at home to get caught up on projects that I’ve been neglecting, ignoring, and simply putting off. Because I’m confined, they’re staring me in the face. Painting, a spot of wallpapering, cleaning, repairing and replacing. It’s a world gone mad. But to tell the truth, our home hasn’t looked this good since we moved in twenty years ago. I bought a power washer to work outside if warm weather ever puts in an appearance. My muscles are all screaming at me to go back and read a book by the fireplace, which by the way, I’ve cleaned and polished, so it looks almost too nice to use. I don’t think muscle revolt is a symptom of virus, but still . . . . Oh, God, is my facemask working? Who knows, but I’ll keep wearing it because it will protect others, and my dear sister-in-law went to a lot of trouble to make it. Truth be told, it’s the closest I’ll ever come to being part of the criminal element. The daily newspaper is wrapped in plastic – should I disinfect it, or me, or my hazmat suit? I’ll just wash my hands and hope for the best. And there’s another issue. We got a tankless water heater that takes its own sweet time to warm up. As I now need to wash my hands thirty or forty times a day, it wastes a lot of time and water. I don’t know about you folks reading this, but I’ve tightened up on the laundry protocols. It’s now a structured weekly plan, not whenever the hamper is overflowing or the sheets look too familiar. When did we change them last? Or the towels?
Most recently, I’ve subscribed to a couple of online nurseries – just in case the worst happens and I can’t get to the local ones any time soon. I anticipate that everything will be looking great just about the time the first frost hits. That will wipe out everything except COVID-19, which apparently likes cold weather. I find that my ambition far outweighs my energy. Have been watching a British series that combines murder and gardening. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, but we’ve had to expand our viewing options. Can’t imagine what we did before Netflix. So, I’m thinking a small Elizabethan garden off the back deck, perhaps a peaceful Moorish garden on the front terrace. That would mean a water feature, though, for which I doubt Her Ladyship would approve the expenditure. I’ve already had to sneak in plant material under cover of darkness. Actually, I just leave them outside because She doesn’t interface much with nature and probably won’t notice them until they’re firmly rooted.
For those of you keeping track, here are some key elements of cabin fever (not a symptom) and COVID-19 overload:
- You’re getting pretty good at using Zoom, GoToMeeting, Skype, and Facetime because those are the only ways of you reaching the outside world.
- You’re using sanitary wipes on door handles, toilet flushing levers, light switches, faucets, telephones, and computer keyboards. And if things are going as well as our Commander-In-Chief says they are, why did the Federal government just place a massive order for body bags?
- You check the front and back doors each night before going to bed, not to see if they’re locked, but there may be a package or two whose delivery escaped your notice during the day.
- You are arranging and rearranging the freezer because nothing fits any more. Time to throw out the rolls that came with take-out some time back.
- You’re dusting and vacuuming, thinking to yourself life is spiraling out of control, but on the bright side, your mother would be so proud.
- You see pictures of people on cruises and think, “Are they out of their minds?” (In a word, yes – they are.)
- You’re getting very tired of the latest statistics. It’s like the McDonald’s signs telling us how many burgers they’d sold. Just save the numbers in case some crazies with less patience than brainpower attack the Michigan State House with assault weapons . . . . . . . oh, wait. (That will be another topic for another day. The working title is “Idiots With Guns”.)
- Sports reporters have nothing to talk about except playoff schedules when the seasons have been cancelled, and top athletes’ stupid tweets (because they’re home too and as bored and frustrated as the rest of us).
- You want to fill the gas tank because gas is under $2 a gallon, but it’s already full and you have no place to go.
- You apologize for using cash. It could be contaminated, and you didn’t think to run it through the dishwasher first. It’s just go into the cash drawer and infect other innocent bystander money.
- You know all the local take-out menus by heart, and your credit card information just pops up on their website under “place an order online”.
- Publishers Clearing House once again missed my big payoff because delivering my big check is too risky. Also, I really couldn’t execute my well-rehearsed squeals of surprise and delight behind a facemask.
If you aren’t getting out enough, take comfort, because other than UPS, FedEx, and Amazon drivers, none of us are either. Stay in and stay safe, my faithful readers!
I'm Thinking...No! 