Are You Sure It Isn’t Saturday?
We are four weeks and five days into our quarantine. Rounding up that’s five weeks.
There have been so many blogs I have started to write, only to trash and then curl up and go watch some more CNN.
The problem with staying in the house all the time – well – it’s many, but one of the main ones is there is not a lot to write about.
No matter where we are or how many are in the house most people appear to be plagued by the same issues. Pardon the pun.
It seems everyone you talk to, and we all seem to be talking to our friends a lot more, which is a good thing; but everyone is running around the same hamster wheel.
IF IT’S BILL MAHER IT MUST BE FRIDAY
Nobody seems to remember what day it is. I thought it was just me. Two weeks ago, I think it was two weeks ago, I spent a half-hour trying to convince Glenn it was Saturday. He said it was Tuesday. I was furious with him. He was gaslighting me. Tuesday. No way. That meant it was the beginning of the week and not the end. It was Saturday I was emphatic.
I finally gave in and looked at my phone. He was right. Tuesday it was. But the good news – Tuesday I FaceTime with my shrink. If it couldn’t be the end of the week at least I got to talk to Dennis.
It makes total sense. Our lives were once based on activities and rhythms and patterns of behavior. They have all been stripped away. From merely going to the office or what day of the week certain gym classes we took to the more specific events in our calendars that let us know what day it was.
Ah, Wednesday, the dentist at 10:00. Lunch with Arnold followed by work then Pilates at 5:00. Meet Glenn at the David Sedaris lecture at the Y at 7:00.
Frankly, I need to see the dentist. I wish I had not canceled my appointment the week before the world stopped. I also need to get the lenses on my reading glasses replaced. I go to an optician in my building. A wonderful place. Barton Perrirea. They all love Wally. Sometimes I go in and just try on glasses and talk to all the girls who work there. They are all so sweet. I miss the blonde with the curly hair I waved to every day as I walked by on my way to somewhere. I so hope they reopen. I do miss all the somewheres.
You can tell focus is still an issue.
I jumped from life rhythms to my glasses.
But the point is no one seems to know what day it is. And I’m beginning to think no one seems to care.
FORAGING FOR FOOD
No matter who you talk to, wherever they may be from British Columbia to Eastern Long Island everyone is foraging for food.
Everyone I talk to is looking for food, can’t find the food they are looking for. Getting a delivery, they now have to spend an hour disinfecting, or one was just canceled.
My friend Brucie had to jump off the phone the other day. “Got to go. We need to go find food.”
He lives in West Hollywood. It sounded like he and his husband were going to go shoot a bison on Rodeo Drive. It’s all become very primitive. We are all living our own versions of survivor.
I now see why before shopping, when one had to go out and spear a fish or find some berries that were non toxic, food gathering was a woman’s fulltime job. Unless the big boy went out and clubbed something over the head and the tribe could live off that for a week without worrying.
COVID equivalent would be that Fresh Direct, Instacart or the market either has everything you want or delivers everything you order. So, far this has not happened.
I broke down twice this week. The first time when I realized we had nine containers of blueberries and no onions or yogurt. What the hell would we do with nine things of blueberries? Then I got a brilliant idea. Freeze them. So, we did, and I stopped crying.
I broke down again on Friday night when some nice man from Instacart named Adnan was doing the shopping I had delivered on Wednesday I told him to STOP when he texted me that the Oatly had to be replaced with Planet Oat. He then kept shopping. The fresh ginger was being substituted with Ginger Ale. NO. STOP ADNAN. The Beyond Meat was being replaced with Beyond Sausage. NO. NO. NO. STOP. But he couldn’t hear me as he had no reception. I could see him toss things in the basket as he checked them off. Three things of blueberries. I broke down. NO MORE BLUEBERRIES
I went online to tell Instacart. But of course, there are no people there. Only those little message boards. I was number 107 in line.
Adnan finally got service. I told him he had to return everything. He said the system did not work like that. I told him if he could make it work like that there would be $25.00 in cash waiting for him with my doorman.
The order was somehow canceled.
I clearly have a fear of running out of blueberries. I think because Glenn has them every morning with his overnight oats and I know how good they are for him.
We also buy raspberries but never as many as the blue ones.
I am terrified of running out of Oat Milk. Terrified. I know what this stems from. It’s not Freudian or because I wasn’t breast fed. It’s because when I first fell in love with oat milk, I did so with the rest of the world. And for about four months everyone was always out of it. So, I make a point of always having at least one back up. But now with the food shortages, I decided I need five at all times. Two more arrived this afternoon.
When I realized I had this fear of running out of very specific items, I took to Instagram and asked people what they had too much of and too little of.
My daughter Taylor has way too much kale. I had no idea she cared about kale. And I know her pretty well. She does not know why she has so much kale.
A girl who follows me called state_of_grace was heavy on peanut butter and Ramen. A combo I totally relate to.
My friend Jodi Martini also loaded up on blueberries. In fact, it seems like blueberries are something that are being hoarded. Also, hummus. Count me in as guilty on that one. We have five things of hummus in the fridge right now, but still no onions.
This is all new to me as I have historically never bought a lot of anything but dog food. I shop like a European. I get what I want when I want it, in small amounts. There is never much in our fridge unless we are having people over. Remember that? People – over – in your house – to keep you company…….
Anyway, at least this foraging takes time. We were watching a food film that Michael Pollan did and there was this indigenous tribe In Australia and the woman would go out and pull this sort of armadillo looking creature out of the ground. It would take them hours to find one. Perhaps like being number 107 on the Instacart call queue. And when they found one, they were so joyful. They would snap it dead and club it with sharp instrument.
Then they would throw it on a fire and then have a feast. The throwing of the armadillo on the fire part I did not relate to at all. But finally finding the sucker and breaking his neck somehow resonated with me.
In my dreams Trump was the armadillo and my friend Mayanne and I pulled him out of the earth and we clubbed him, then we threw him on a fire. And they served him at Mar a Lago to Wilber Ross for dinner.
It’s just a dream. But in these crazy times, everyone seems to be having extreme dreams.
The other thing everyone seems to be suffering from is sleep. It’s either deprivation due to anxiety or it’s an overabundance due to escapism.
Now I wander around the apartment like Lady McBeth with very clean hands as I have washed them all day long. Of course, she did that too, but without the Byreddo suede soap. Maybe they killed no one. Maybe the Macbeths were innocent, and they were just trying to avoid infection.
I start out the night with my earbuds in listening to sleep guides which used to work and now just make me more anxious. But what one tape says is just sleep when you can. Patterns are yours not the worlds. Maybe you don’t need sleep.
And that does calm me down. I used to get all freaked out when I couldn’t sleep as I had something to do the next day. Like it would be two am and I was going nuts because I had to be up and at my desk being funny and productive. Now all I have to do is change wee wee pads and I can sleep until noon if I want.
Glenn and I are on totally different patterns. He falls asleep around ten or so and then wakes up around three when I am finally calm after downing some Tequila at two.
So, he’s up and fretting while I’m sleeping and I’m freaking out when he’s sleeping.
I share this for those of you who think if I only had a mate during these times, I would not be alone in the middle of the night when I need someone to talk to.
Trust me. Do not have partner envy. Chances are whoever you might be with would be on a totally different sleep schedule than you and you would be just as alone as you are alone.
I am totally alone at two am. My only company the tequila and my earbuds. Not even Wally wakes up. How is it he knows at eight in the morning I will give him cookies and at two in the morning I won’t?
Too Much of the Same People
I got a call today from a dear friend. “I just need to talk to someone who is not my husband or my kids.”
I get it.
There is absence makes the heart grow fonder which is sometimes true – sometimes not.
Then there is I have now been watching him breathe for five weeks without stopping. Can he go breathe in another room?
Things that were funny at the end of the day after being apart are not as amusing when you have not been out of someone’s sight going into month two.
Again, I share these feelings as we are all in the same boat here.
I wish I had an answer. I am working on it. I find earbuds the best solution to everything. Earbuds and micro-needling my face. And talking to my cousin Lorraine about beauty products. And she went to Stanford and the University of Chicago, so she is no bimbo. We just like to talk about beauty products. I snuck out with my friend Lisa today for another socially distanced coffee in the park with Wally. Friends seem to be the best medicine. Loved ones are great and having Lucy here is a dream. And FaceTiming with Taylor is not as good as the next room but it works. And Paulie just helped me pick out a new car.
And I am grateful to have Glenn even when he over breathes. But I under breath so I guess we are a good couple. Right now he is happily watching a basketball doc on Michael Jordon. I think it’s in ten parts, which means at least 6 evenings of social distancing.
I make jokes – but this is not funny and it’s only getting worse. Trust me. Just wait until all those protestors come down with it – a whole new spread.
Better start shopping now.
Meme – sent to me by my friend Barbara Tannebaum