Quick question because I honestly don’t even know anymore. What day is it? What time is it? Um…Month? I feel like I’m in Vegas, but without the winnings, the nightlife, or all things exciting. This Coronacation kinda sucks.
At first it wasn’t bad. Sleeping in. Nice! Not having to pack backpacks and lunches, 5 days a week – also nice! A gal could get used to this relaxed schedule. I made a list of all the things I could do during this down time. During this quality time with my family. I had such ambitions.
Then came day two…
The kids. My God the kids…”what are we doing today?” “what’s for dinner?” “I’m soooo bored!”
Boredom. I mean, c’mon – after the first day, what is there really to do? I don’t want to play Monopoly. I don’t want to do a puzzle. Listen to you sing? Again? The same song that I’ve heard close to 100 times? Sure! I literally have nothing else to do.
After week one, paranoia has begun to set in. I seem to be touching my face more than ever because I specifically know I’m not supposed to. It’s like I have absolutely no control over my hand, and I’m constantly moving the hair from my eyes. Oh wait, I read a report…”don’t touch your eyes. Take out your contact lenses, put on your glasses…”
Have you met me? I’m not goin’ down wearing glasses, people!
I cough. Oh God. Corona! Quick, run to the medicine cabinet and grab the thermometer. Check my temp. Whew. No temp. Oh my God…what if’s a non-temp Corona?
And I find myself washing my hands – and wondering if I’m doing it right. Twenty-seconds, 250 times a day. I’m 52 years old, and I’m questioning my own hygiene. I frantically pull up YouTube to watch the hand-washing guy. He’ll show me how to accurately wash my whole hand. Top, bottom, thumbs, fingers, palms…there’s a LOT to this. Clearly, I’ve been doing it wrong for the past 1/2 century.
After 3 weeks in quarantine, I’m finding myself wiping down the counters, the trash barrel, I’m wiping the Lysol wipes with Lysol wipes…I’m wiping my grocery bags, the groceries…I’m wiping doorknobs and dashboards. Truth be told, I wiped down my dog.
And I’m starting to wonder if Mr. Monk was right all along.