My daughter was trying to describe something the other day, and she said, “It’s just so….so….sericulous!” a combination of serious and ridiculous. I thought, what a profoundly apt description of this fucking COVID-19 isolation life we’re living right now. It’s deadly serious. Horrifly, terrifyingly, alarmingly, serious. And…so many moments/thoughts/concerns are absurdly ridiculous. It’s both.
- Am I still flossing my teeth? On one hand, I’m afraid if I get a cavity, I’ll have to use a mirror and power tools from my own garage to get it out, on the other, I don’t WANT to do it because if we’re all doomed anyway, I’m not spending my time fucking with plaque.
- Should I go back to sleeping naked? On the one hand, it feels better, comforting, peaceful, and I’ve had to give it up since I had little kids who just pop in my bed at random all night long…on the other hand, if my kids wake up and see my butt, who are they going to tell? And how traumatic would that be, really, relatively speaking, since the world is on fire and all? So, say they’re just, like, a wee bit traumatized from butt, but they can’t tell anyone about it because school is canceled…then a bear never shit in the woods, right?
- Am I still eating sugar? Well. So. Here’s the thing about that: yes. Should I still be eating sugar? That’s harder. Sugar means inflammation and potentially lower immune function, and less energy, more sluggishness (so I might miss my chance to… outrun the virus? I guess?) and, also, I committed to Jesus to give up sugar for Lent. BUT, I’m pretty sure I read that the Pope canceled Easter. And summer. And my birthday. So, why not enjoy a little (lot) candy and chocolate and cupcakes and ice cream? Also, sugar and coffee have become the sole reasons I wake up each morning.
- Oh, and also my kids. On one hand, those ‘womb goblins’ are probably keeping me alive, giving me purpose and joy and sillyness (like inventing the word ‘sericulous’) and they’re healthy and well and with me and that’s SUCH a huge relief in this terrifying serious time. On the other hand….holy fuck are they just, like, right there! ALL THE TIME! Oh, hey, hello. There they are again. At my elbow. Under my feet. In my bed, gaping at my naked ass. Neat.
- Also…as much as they’re giving me life, they also trying to kill me on the daily. They are such magnificant, lovely, beautiful critters…and also foul disgusting, mean little ogres. They LICK EVERYTHING. And yell and fall and break things (themselves/each other) constantly. I am never not twitching. Sometimes I catch them FAKE WASHING THEIR HANDS. (twitch) and PUTTING THEIR MOUTHS ON REMOTE CONTROLS (twitch) AND PHONES (twitch) AND EACH OTHER AND OH, GOD, THE FLOOR, WHY THE FLOOR. (twitch twitch twiiiiiiiiiiiitch, ope, too late, my face is stuck this way forever now).
- Is that a gray hair? Did you see it? Did it just pop out? Of my nostril? Yeah, I’m letting my nostril hairs grow out in case it’s like a bramble, like the forest of thorns, protecting the castle in ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ acting as a defense against flying germs. Also, we’re in some sort of apocalyptic war, baby, I get to give even fewer fucks than I gave before. Look out, world, here I….sit. ALSO, my husband doesn’t care how luke warm or hot this mess is. He loves me deeply for who I am. AND there’s literally no options for him. I’m like the $16 terrible hot dog at a baseball game. He’s gotta have me, cuz he’s hungry and I have the monopoly…on hot dogs.
- How is my isolation effecting my brain? It’s not. I’m fine.
- How does my isolation suffering compare to others? This is one of those dumb human things we do that shows that we’re worse than the animals. I’m worried about worrying enough. Am I suffering enough? Less than the average? More? In life in general, I suffer less than the average bear, because I’m wealthy with resources and safety and have people who love me- so that privilege and relative peace translates to end-of-days days, as well. So….then, am I not allowed to feel super bad for myself because this hella sucks, knowing that it hella more sucks for others? Where are we on the suck scale? Can I get a number? Did I just find an Oreo in my bra? I guess I really am lucky.
Anyway. Like we said. Things are serious. Very. And ridiculous. Very.