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My Social Distancing Diary

Reporting from Weeks of Isolation with my Quaranteens

Day One

Inventoried all Lysol wipes on premises, trimmed nails short for maximum tidiness, and gathered as family to create daily germ-blasting household wipe-down regimen.

Gobbled up kale salad, popped an Airborne gummy, and added home workouts to my calendar four times/week. Health is a priority!

Pulled out old recipe books, dusted off a 1,000-piece puzzle, and upgraded video streaming services now that we finally have time to explore all those award-winning series.

Brought in logs for cozy fires, ordered cute desk lamp for work-at-home station, and dug out tub of pore-purifying facial mud mask from the bathroom cupboard. Bring on the staycation!

Day Three

Surprised to find markets sold out of one crucial ingredient from every recipe I planned to make. But no matter; we have plenty of staples ​— ​and are stocked up on can-do attitudes!

Our dog Cosmo is really appreciating the extra time with us. What a love.

Organized my pajama drawer. Set a goal of wearing each and every pair during this safer-at-home stay; discipline is what will get us through this challenging time.

Invited old college friends to virtual jam session with my husband, whose solo guitar pluckings were downright dour. But the internet lag prevented anyone from syncing to a singular rhythm … so we all just toasted to our laptop cameras, drained our cocktails, and fretted about our IRAs.

Workout: Online bootcamp in the living room. Quit halfway through when my kids began fighting. I yelled at them for yelling at each other. Must keep my stress in check.

Sanity is a priority!

Day Eight

Feels like Christmas break, and not in the good way: I’m sick of the sound of video games, I’ve stopped wearing a bra, and I’m terrified to go to the mall. 

Cosmo is getting spoiled. Expects biscuits, rubs, and walks all day long. Was he always this pushy?

The scaly, over-scrubbed Gila monsters on the ends of my arms would gladly trade someone six rolls of toilet paper for a tube of hand lotion.

Workout: Yoga in the backyard. Quit after 16 minutes when the back half of my reverse-low-lunge landed on an inconspicuous Cosmo turd. Honestly? He looked like he planned it.

Discovered a charming little corner of my home I never even noticed before. Hid there alone for nearly two hours with bottle of Airborne gummies and very large glass of wine, playing and replaying worst-case scenarios in my mind.

Yelled at husband for yelling at children. I mean, one of us has to keep it together!

I can’t even stress-eat for fear of running out of food.

Not Sure What Day It Is Anymore

An addiction specialist wrote to ask if I’d like to interview her about why we shouldn’t use alcohol as a coping strategy in front of our children. Told her it seemed the more civilized option when weighed against shrieking, “HOLY $%*^, WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!,” motorboating through the remaining Nutella, and engaging in loud, depraved acts with their father.

Workout: Digging through freezer for seven minutes trying to find something to eat besides expired protein bars, canned green beans, and toaster waffles.

Turns out lack of time was not the reason we never baked old recipes, assembled 1,000-piece puzzles, and binge-watched streaming content. It’s because all of those things deeply suck.

Putting on pants is a priority!

… Late Spring?

Found meager stash of old Halloween candy and hid it in my nightstand; don’t you dare tell my children. Can’t be sure I’ve heard the shower run all week, but the house is frickin’ immaculate.

Workout? Chasing family members around house with spray bottle of bleach.

Look at Cosmo over there, happy as a virus on stainless steel. Genuinely suspect world’s dogs of masterminding this whole fiasco just for the extra attention. Biscuit-groveling, yoga-ruining, plague-propagating mongrels.

Recognizing that no luxury balm can expunge the grimace that fear, captivity, and too much togetherness has affixed on my face, I’m saving the mud mask for when life resumes.

And it will.

But I think I’m done with bras.

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