Day 32

Day 32, self quarantine 

Right now it’s 4:00 a.m.  I’ve given up ever trying to sleep in, it’s not in my DNA.  This is my zen time, when I sit in the darkened living room meditating, before coffee and watching taped episodes of Chopped Sweets.

I made the mistake of flicking on the news.  This is not a political post, just one sentence, to say I’m appalled at Trump for irresponsibly and illegitimately  planning on taking a coronavirus victory lap today and reopening the country too soon.

I haven’t stayed inside for thirty-two days in the Spring just so I can get deathly ill in the summer.

Also, the President is both an idiot and a criminal.

Okay, that’s two sentences.  I’m done.

But there’s another (selfish) reason for my anger.

Yesterday, as I was happily curled up on the sofa while Gary hurled four letter words at his laptop, I had a major epiphany.  Something in me shifted this week.

I freaking love quarantine and I love working from home.

The only adjustment I want is for my kids to be here and the beaches at the Jersey shore to reopen.  I am craving a walk by the ocean with my family, and, a Manco & Manco pizza.

Oh, and I don’t want to work from home five days a week. This three day schedule suits me fine 😎

Yeah, yeah, in my dreams.

My change of heart actually started happening Tuesday.  Typically on getaway days before a couple of days off, my boss is usually all about no heavy lifting - i.e., instead of complicated Motions etc.  we’ll do stuff like phone calls and filing.  So when I headed upstairs that morning, I was feeling light hearted and stress free.

The text from my boss came seconds later.

“What are you working on?”

Uh-oh.  He’s asking me this at 8:00 a.m.?  

I somehow guessed he didn’t want the truth, which was, “I’m eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios!”

“Why?  What’s up?” I texted instead.

“Stop whatever you were doing.  I didn’t settle XXX.  You need to throw a Complaint together and get it to the client today.”

Omg.  You have no idea.  I’ve prepared Complaints my entire career.  Typically, they take a couple hours, tops.

In my current position, we have a paralegal who prepares most of the Complaints in our office, but sometimes the Complaints are thirty pages, ridiculously complicated, and are associated with files I worked on exclusively so I am the one who prepares it.   The Complaint I had on Tuesday was one of those.

Worse, I had to read federal statutes regarding tractor-trailers before I could even start.

Also typically, these Complaints take me a week.  I need two days just to get the first draft to my boss, then it goes through days of edits.  And that’s with a desktop computer, not the clunky,  ancient office laptop I’m using.

I stared at the screen, feeling like a trapped rat.

“I can’t do this.  Omg.  I can’t.  What am I going to tell my boss?”

Okay.  Deep breaths.  Unless I wanted to be officially retired that very minute, I had to give it a shot.

I’m not gonna lie, I’m a drama queen.  I sat there with tears running down my face while I typed.

A few times I let out anguished cries and some choice cursing, once even causing Gary to yell from downstairs, “Is everything okay up there?”

No worries, it’s just your wife, having a complete mental breakdown.

“Everything’s peachy!” I responded instead.

I plugged away, and I dunno, somehow...and I have no freaking clue how... I had a viable first draft by noon.  I fired it off via email to my boss, feeling like I was Queen of the world.

“Who’s your mama?” I preened to Jake, stretched out on Julie’s bed behind me.

Jake was not impressed.

The email from my boss arrived shortly thereafter with the first set of edits.

For like the fiftieth time that day, I sat with my head in my hands and wept.

Anyway, to wrap this up, by the end of the day, in a new world record, the Complaint was finished and sent to the client for signature.

Tuesday night, as I was basking in relief and anticipation of the two day holiday, I went over everything our three person team has accomplished over the past month from our respective home offices - one with a 22 month old baby, one with a 3 and 6 year old, and me with Gary 😂😂😂 - and it’s kind of mind blowing.  We’re pulling it off!

And that’s when I realized I love quarantine.  Staying home with Gary and Jake is glorious.  I’m a loner in the real world.  This down time is one of the best things that ever happened to me.

I don’t want it to end.

For me, anyway.

Day 31

Day 31, self quarantine 

If I really stop and think about it, it’s kind of unbelievable Gary and I have now been quarantined 31 days and we haven’t killed each other.

Yet.

Today should be interesting.  I have off from work today and tomorrow for Passover but Gary does not.  Typically on holidays like this, Gary would be at his office and I would spend the day on the sofa, stuffing my face and watching the Food Network.

I know, I know.  I have no idea why I watch that either. Especially as a vegetarian and food snob.  For the love of god,  they inject processed pork products and tubs of Cool Whip into every meal, as demonstrated, because I really can’t say cooked, by obnoxious  loud mouths like Guy Fieri, or worse, celebrity hosts like Katie Lee and the Pioneer Woman who never even  attended culinary school.

Gary is astounded I watch this garbage and yeah, yeah, I’m embarrassed, but then again, over this quarantine I’ve witnessed him watching reruns of curling from the 2010 winter Olympics, so...

Anyway, he really hates the Food Network.  He’ll overhear something like, “Take those anchovies, let them swim in a vat of mayonnaise, drop those babies in the fryer and there it is, the best thing you ever ate” and that’ll be when he exits the room — but not before shooting me the Are you out of your fucking mind look.

Probably.

I guess our respective television taste is our mutual escape from reality, and I suppose it’s all good, but for some reason I’m feeling guilty this morning  that I don’t always use my down time in the  most creative and interesting ways.

I mean, during this apocalypse, I’m seeing people paint masterpieces, bake amazing bread and cakes for the first time, and make incredible music.

As for me, well, I’ve watched every episode of Top Chef since 2006.

And admittedly loved every minute of it.

Anyway, because Gary is working a few feet from the television today, I won’t be watching food tv.

I should do something creative, huh.

Sigh...oh, the pressure.  But since the alternative is housework, I’m going for it.  What to do, what to do.

Hey, I did write a new book called What the Hell Happened which is a series of connected essays about a senior citizen who thinks she’s sixteen.  Absolutely nothing autobiographical there, huh, but anyway, it was supposed to be published in March and then, coronavirus, and then, I got an email and even though I swore I would never put myself through this again, I think I am going to attempt the traditional publishing route.

God help me.  Wish me luck.

So what the hell should I do today?  Haha, it occurs to me I could write a week’s worth of these Facebook posts. As it turns out, writing is even more cathartic than the Food Network.

Maybe that’s the lesson I’m going to learn from Apocalypse 2020 and I am so here for that.

Okay, then.  Off I go.

Have an awesome day!