Do, I have a cold? Allergies? “The” virus? These are the questions I’ve had the past three days, as I’ve rumbled around in bed, falling asleep like I was bitten by a tse tse fly, coughing, headachey with a runny nose. I keep jamming the thermometer in my mouth like it will come back with the answer: “You just have a cold–vacuum your fucking house.”
The thermometer is right–the dust bunnies in my house have gathered and I’m almost certain they are planning a coup. Where exactly does dust come from, anyway? How does it ball up into miniature tumbleweeds? I have to vacuum today, for the third time during this pandemic, because of course, my beloved housecleaner, Yolanda, who has been with us for the past 25 years can’t come because of the goddamn virus, as if I need one more reason to hate this deadly plague. She keeps this place together, and believe me, I have thanked her every way I can because without her we are basically living in a frat house. I will continue to pay her because she is family to us. That’s how this thing has to work.
Who knows what day it is? They all seem to be blending together. Honestly, I don’t know how it’s possible, but it seems that we have the same amount of laundry as the population of a small private college. I give my neighbors the side-eye, wondering if they’re sneaking in at night and putting their clothes in my hamper? Not really, I have the best neighbors (which does not preclude them from dumping their laundry in my hamper–hey, guys, let up, will ya).
I keep cleaning the kitchen and within six minutes, it’s dirty again. Not even kidding. I seem to be attending to plates and pots that I’ve never even seen before. “Who’s bowl is this?” I ask my husband. He’s reading the paper, reporting all the articles that say this isn’t going to be as bad as they say. He’s an eternal optimist. I put another load into the dishwasher. “Where did we get this platter?” I ask him. He’s texting his well-curated articles to our “optimism” group text. Note to self: Delete yourself from the optimism group text until your cold goes away.
The news reports are dismal. And not feeling well just makes all of this worse. And it’s cold out. Did you come here for a gratitude boost? Forget it.
But that’s ok, I’m grateful to hit the wall, because when you let yourself just go down the rabbit hole of misery, you get energized to come back up, with vengeance. Sometimes (on day 22 of quarantine) you need a little rest and rant party so you can come back and notice all there is to be grateful for. But today, no go. Today, I’m sleepy and cranky and I hate what this virus is doing to all of us (and believe me, I know I’m lucky). So, give yourself a break if you’re feeling cranky, too. It’s ok. These are peculiar and unprecedented times. Gratitude will come back. It’s never lost. Just taking a nap. Like I’m about to do. Purell hugs and kisses.