covid-19 diaries, 1

“The NBA has suspended its season.”

My brain records everything about this moment—who I’m with (friends), where I am (in a large kitchen on a marble tabletop), what device I’m reading the headline on (an iPad). My brain records it, because it knows that this is one of those moments I will mark as before, and after.

I live in a country at the highest level of Maslov’s hierarchy, a country driven by entertainment, consumption, and probably more than both, sports.

So when sports gets cancelled, it’s time to fasten that seatbelt, grab those armrests, and maybe even prepare for that oxygen mask to come dropping down, because ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got some turbulence ahead.


My day-to-day looks something like this (this is my actual list, because I take notes to prepare for what my day should look like).

  • breakfast

  • write (out of coffee shop)

  • gym

  • errands

  • nap (maybe)

  • write

  • work on the house

  • dinner

  • relax

  • write

Every day is some variation on this.

Replace ‘coffee shop’ with ‘tea at home’ and ‘gym’ with ‘outdoor backyard exercises’ and you have my new routine. Also remove ‘errands.’

Which is to say, not much has changed in my day-to-day. This is not a humble brag, or a regular brag.

The anxiety definitely still hits me. Without reading the news, I can tell something is wrong. It’s the little ticks you notice, but once they’re gone: fewer cars on the road, fewer kids laughing, a weird, almost silence. It’s surreal, and the satellite that always seems to be spinning above my head is on high-alert.

The reality also is that the last few years have left me with so much anxiety and stress and uncertainty, that I feel weirdly prepared for this.

I look for signs of stability. There are few reports of food supply chain misses, which is the reassurance I need that empty shelves are a result of demand.

I look for causes of instability. Panic, is the big one.

It reminds me so much of taking care of my parents. Where are the stable points, where are my parents’ health and mental capacities strongest? Where are their weaknesses?

It doesn’t change that sometimes the days blur together, as they have always done, and I’ve always given myself markers to determine which day is which. Monday nights, I treated myself and ate out. Tuesdays, I watched movies.

I will have to find new markers, since shelter-at-home orders make those two impossible.

I think about my mom, and what I’d tell her about our current condition. I wonder if I could’ve kept her at home and forced her to “social distance.” I wonder what that would mean for me, as someone tending to the elderly.

I think about my mom’s friends. I text as many as I am in contact with. I ask my friends about their parents. It is, if anything, a sign of reassurance, that there are moments of stability and reassurance in the world.

I think about my dad, whose care center is essentially on lockdown. This is surely for the best. He’s been through the hospital a few times lately. I want to tell him that the world is a little too crazy for him—that it has been for a while. And it’s only due to the power of modern medicine and the help of myself and many others, that we have been able to keep that crazy world at bay for him.

Honestly, I miss seeing him. For only the few minutes of time, at a time, let’s be honest. But those short visits were bursts of joy. I miss going to see him and watching him light up when he saw me. I suspect he’s starting to forget my name, because he’s stopped saying “Hi, Daniel!” and now just smiles. But at least his eyes still shine and glimmer.

I change up my routine and go for a hike. There are green hills, whose tops fade into the grey clouds, which rain a light mist on me and the world below. Earth is still a beautiful place.

I see a few others. We all keep our distance. Some smile. Others cover their mouth when they see me.

I realize that I forgot to take my allergy meds and I’m now worried that I’ll start sneezing and people will yell “Quarantine him!” and then burn me at the stake.

I tend to this new plant that a boy bought me. He described it as ‘hard to kill,’ which is why he got it specifically for me. I guess it needs barely any light and even less water, and is still remarkably resilient. I don’t know what this says about me, and when your imagination is left to wander, you can connect all sorts of random dots.

My phone buzzes. It’s my nephew, asking me to play a game of online Scrabble. He beats me. I don’t understand how. He’s nine.

I think about how we have all this technology to help us feel connected, and in some ways, it really has in my life, especially with my brother’s family.

I decide to get creative. I set up a virtual hangout to play some party games where we all play on our phones but but also look at my laptop screen (which I’m sharing).

I wonder if anyone will want to play, but the reality is everyone is free and looking for something to do.

We try a specific game where you try to invent solutions to made-up problems and then present them to each other.

One friend introduces The Even Grosser. It’s not the real name but his name was so much better that I actually can’t remember it.

Here’s the problem: So, you get grossed out when you see a lemon? Well do I have the solution for you. Introducing, the Even Grosser. Let me show you on this napkin drawing—here’s this old man taking a dump. It’s hideous. It’s gross, even grosser than a lemon. Now, when you see a lemon and think it’s gross, you’ll think of this old man, and the lemon won’t seem so bad. Because gross, is relative.

We’re all dying of laughter. This whole game is so stupid but we don’t even care. Somewhere, miles apart, socially distant but connected through the internet and years of friendship and history, a group of friends is laughing so hard they’re falling off the virtual square that Google Hangouts gives them.

I wasn’t sure if this hangout would work, or if anyone would join. But what else is anyone doing anyway?

I’m happy I made it happen.

It’s probably something my mom would’ve done. She liked to host. I guess I do the same.

Maybe that’s a good thing. After all, this may be the new baseline normal for a while.

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covid-19 diaries, 2

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11 lessons from caregiving, and other uncertain times