Yep, that’s right, folks.
According to my calendar and the tally marks I’ve been keeping with Cheetos, we’re at NINE MONTHS of quarantining.
Well, some of us.
Others gave up mid-April and have been galavanting around with friends and family with whom they do not live as if none of this applies to them. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be angrier than I was in, say July, yet here we are.
But back to those of us who, nine months later, are still taking things a seriously as we did March 12 — actually more seriously now that we know what the selfish fucks previously mentioned have created.
I don’t know about you, but I’m hitting a wall. It was all fun and games for a while (literally, right? How many of you also played games and baked tasty items and did puzzles and art projects like it was camp during the first couple of months?) and then we were distracted by the election and the holidays, and now that the country seems to be imploding in front of our eyes and COVID is worse than ever (thanks to the selfish fucks who keep gathering with other people without masks — yeah, I’m gonna keep saying it because I’m pissed as hell) I just want to go somewhere — ANYWHERE. But I don’t see it happening anytime soon.
My family of four is still isolating.
We still haven’t been around anyone but each other — without masks and closer than 6′ — since March.
My older daughter who works in a veterinary clinic is the only one of us who leaves the house to go anywhere other than the nearby Target or the grocery store. Her skin is raw from all the hand washing and showering she does on a daily basis.
My 19yo daughter — who should be living it up with friends in college right now — hasn’t seen a friend in person (without a mask) since March, and only then a handful of times. She takes long drives by herself often just to get out of the house.
I podcast out of my closet amidst my old wedding dress and a bunch of clothes I haven’t worn in over a year, which I’ve realized I don’t actually like anyway. I stopped making dinner months ago.
My husband has gotten to the point where he sometimes misses going to the office. If that’s not a sign things are getting old hat around here, I don’t know what is.
And listen, I know we’re not sacrificing anything compared to the front line workers and the health care workers — I have nothing to complain about and everything to be grateful for, I hope that goes without saying.
But still, I’m tired of this.
I want someone else to cook a meal for me.
And clean it up.
I want to go to a show and see live theatre.
I want to go to the movies.
I want to complain about being too busy.
I want to pack for a trip and get on an airplane.
I want to browse in a bookstore.
I want to meet a friend for coffee.
I want to go shopping at an actual store.
I want to go to the frigging MALL.
I want to go to the store or to Target and not have to come home and spend half an hour wiping every single thing down with a Clorox wipe.
I want to meet up with friends for dinner.
I want to watch a football game, talk show, or awards show with real people in the seats.
I want to go to Happy Hour.
I want to open social media and not burn with anger towards my friends who post photos of themselves with people they obviously do not live with — without masks.
I want to make plans.
I want to look forward to something.
I want to know that everything will be alright.
What about you?
How you doin’?