Corona Diaries: Week 9 and 10

Week 9

Also 10.

Because whoops. I ran away last week. And it was glorious. 

I wasn’t sure if we should leave, given the way of the Corona these days. But we ran away to the countryside of wine vines and closed tasting rooms so it seemed like a safe bet. I packed up the bathing suits and the dog bed and the school supplies and off we went, up the 101 and into the magical valley of Santa Ynez. 

I can’t count the number of times I’ve been up there, just inland of Santa Barbara, up and around a mountain pass, for those not in the know. It has always brought me such peace to take the 154 exit and begin the curvy ascent towards picturesque bliss. Once upon a long time ago, I got married up in that land and I remember wondering after I got divorced if the place would feel the same or if it had been poisoned by memories past. It took but just one trip to be reminded that although the valley is the holder of all those memories, the land is so vast it leaves you begging to give it more. So give it more I have done. 

Having been sheltering in place for ten weeks, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to pack a suitcase (exhilarating), fill the car with gas (exciting because it was so cheap) ((well, cheap for California)), and yell at the kids to make sure they don’t forget shoes. (Because they quite literally never wear shoes anymore.) I was filled with joy simply at the prospect of driving on the open road for two hours that it mattered none if there was traffic. (There wasn’t.) 

I have to say it was a strange feeling to be away from home in the middle of what’s supposed to be a school week. While it was a huge relief to have a change of scenery, especially such a comforting, beautiful one, it was also a stark reminder of the times. Each morning as the kids logged on to school, I’d think-oh yeah; they’re supposed to be at school right now. Oh yeah; they’re supposed to be playing a baseball game tonight. Oh yeah; this still sucks. We’re all supposed to be doing so many other things. And instead, this strange time has brought me to this vast land, holder of memories past and present, on a Monday afternoon on a week in which we had so many other plans, so many other memories we were supposed to be creating. I fluctuated between gratitude and anger; frustration and contentment. Even now, hot tears fill my eyes as I mourn all the things that were missed, that will be missed, that may always be missed. 

I came home to a city that is desperate to trickle back into normalcy. With the beaches finally open, we’ve already been a handful of times. We flock there because it lets us feel that sense of normalcy. We flock there because it comforts us. We flock there so we can sit six feet apart and share a cocktail and a laugh and forget for just a little bit about all that we are missing. Our vast beach, holder of memories, always waiting to help soften our fall; the tide pulling our eyes and our ears and our feet to it’s shore, clinging to the only thing that feels familiar in this unfamiliar experience. 

We have a few more weeks of school left and then I suppose it’s summer. Whatever that means. I, like so many, had to cancel a pretty special trip I’ve been saving for for a pretty long time so summer suddenly seems pretty wide open. Hours upon days upon weeks upon months of wide open time. But who knows? Maybe we’ll pack up our suitcases, gas up the car, grab our shoes and drive down a new road to some vast land somewhere that is simply waiting for us so it can hold our memories.

Maybe…just maybe…we’ll get to run away again. 

And once again, it shall be glorious. 

Corona Diaries: Week 8

Week 8

I’m bored.

Everybody’s bored.

We’re so bored of doing the stuff we usually do when we’re bored. We’re so bored we don’t remember the stuff we did when we were bored before. We’re so bored we’re too bored to do anything except talk about how bored we are. Sometimes we’re even too bored to talk about how bored we are so we just sort of make eye contact and shrug and understand that we’re bored. 

There is a lethargy creeping upon our bodies, slowly suffocating our will to move. Even the most mundane things, like folding those towels that have been sitting in the basket for two days, are beginning to feel like a momentous task. Yes I know it will only take me two minutes to do it, but I just don’t want to. Because I’m too bored to do anything anymore. 

And now that things are allegedly going to start opening up again, I can’t help but wonder…am I going to remember how to do stuff again? And am I even going to want to?  Because let’s face it; we still really shouldn’t be dashing out the door to congregate; there are still no sports or extracurricular actives for the kids; there’s not a whole lot of reasons to be running around town searching for some normalcy. We still have many weeks of wide open, long days ahead of us. And if I can’t even take my damn towel to sit on the sand as I watch my kids in the ocean, can we even go to the beach? And if we do go to the beach, are all those psychos on Nextdoor going to be stalking everyone with their nifty camera phones and keyboard warrior fingers? 

I used to be so good at being bored. I was a child of the 80’s and 90’s; we were created to survive boredom. We came home to houses empty of parents after school and watched one episode of The Brady Bunch before there was nothing on so we just wandered outside and maybe spotted a neighbor kid and rode bikes aimlessly until dinner. We filled thousands of summer hours with nothing to do expect our daily chores and watch the clouds drift by as our imaginations wandered the world while we laid with our backs pressed against the scratchy grass. As I grew older and left home and moved to cities where I was a stranger to it and everyone, I filled my time with solo trips to the movies and the bookstores and sometimes long walks through Target. (For the record-still all my favorite things to do alone.)  And then I had babies and I was home with them and though no one can prepare you for the isolation and loneliness that go hand in hand with being a stay at home parent, we eventually found our little ways to keep our long, groundhog days full. 

But my brain is so tired now. My brain got so tired of trying not to be bored of being bored I think it shut off; the lack of activity sending a signal that said, okay. We got her. She’s done. Shut this baby down and run her on autopilot. Wake up. Work out. Start school. Walk dog. Clean house. Make food. Wake up. Work out. Start school. Walk dog. Clean house. Make food. Each day crawling by with the hands of the clock ticking as if covered in molasses. 

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I bear no brunt that is greater than someone else’s. My situation comparatively is fortunate to many others and I don’t forget the sacrifices so many are making. But I think I speak for all of mankind when I say: I’m done. Please we promise to be good can we please be done? Pretty pretty pretty please? With a cherry-printed mask on top?

I can’t think ahead to fall and the idea that we may still have to distance learn. I can’t think ahead to the summer weeks when the days will still be stretched out long before us with limited activities to entertain us. I can’t think ahead to next week, wondering if it’s okay to try and leave on a three day weekend or is that just stupid and selfish?  I can barely think ahead to tomorrow when I might try and go to the car wash because it sounds nice to have something “normal” to do again. I’ll just be here, getting though today, hour by hour, as gracefully as I can. Like we all are.

So I guess that means I should go ahead and fold the damn towels already. 

Just in time to wash them again. 

Corona Diaries: Week 7

Week 7

I’m ready for everyone to go away now. 

Just please can everyone go away for like two hours a day. 

That’s all I need. I promise I will put it to good use. I mean I’ll probably watch like 20 minutes of some terrible reality show that I just can’t shake, but that’s it. I swear I’ll be productive. Or not. But I want the chance to find out. 

Listen, I’m happy to do the cleaning and the cooking and the laundry. I’ve been a stay home slave for years now-I’m used to it. I’m happy to help with the schoolwork, I’m happy to nag about the daily Zoom schedule, I’m happy to see only blank faces stare back at me when I say things like-Anybody want to play a game? Jesus, I’m even happy to be the constant audience that Daughter so desires for basically…anything…she does all day. Mom! Watch me do a cartwheel. Mom! Watch me ride my bike. Mom! Watch me watch this show. Mom! Watch me breath. 

It’s fine. It really is. 

But can they just please go away for two hours? 

(I’m willing to negotiate to one hour.)

And I don’t mean go to your rooms and become one with your device.

I mean go away. Leave this house. Let me be alone.

You remember how when the kids were little and you would sneak off to pee in the hopes of having one moment to yourself and the second your ass hit that seat you would hear….Mama?? 

That is quarantine. I just want to pee by myself and I can’t. Ever.

It doesn’t even make sense that I can’t seem to find the time to take care of things besides the aforementioned slaving because all there is is time. So much time. We’ve been told our entire lives that there are 24 hours in a day but in the time of Corona, however, it seems that there are 24 hours between lunch and dinner alone. Which makes each day at least 107 hours long. In all of those 107 hours I should be able to find just one or god forbid two where I can….I don’t even know, people. I don’t know what it is I want to do. I can’t remember stuff we used to do. I just want them to go away so I can then discover what it is I will do. Because every time I start to do a thing for myself, my ass hits the seat and all I hear is…Mama? 

The fatigue of this quarantine is settling in pretty strong now. Along with some strange “new normal” is the growing longing for some semblance of our old lives to come back. Just a glimmer of the old ordinary would sooth these restless souls. How I long to plop down a chair and a blanket at the beach; to bounce from game to game over the weekend; to be The Children’s unpaid Uber driver; to go on a date to the movies; to have Target be fun again. Of course I can’t wait to go on a vacation or plan a trip to see my family or head to a Dodger game but all I really want right now is the most benign of normal to begin again. 

And to be alone in my house. For one hour.