FAILING QUARANTINE

Okay, so now that stay-at-home is winding down, and the streets are busy again, and stores have a constant stream of customers, there is something I feel compelled to admit.

 

I failed quarantine.

 

Oh, sure, I started out okay. During the first weeks, I cleaned closets, discovered Broadway HD, Zoomed with friends and relatives I hadn't talked to in years, and completed a really complex jigsaw puzzle with my husband while listening to Rewatchable podcasts. I was content.

 

I also relished the feeling that stay-at-home was the great equalizer. NO ONE could go out and achieve great things. EVERYONE was binging Netflix and watching Tiger King. There were NO pictures on Instagram or Facebook inciting jealousy or making me feel talentless or boring. Even the women on The View were looking a little frayed around the edges, and Whoopi was wearing the same shirt every day. I was now more than content. I was happy.

 

But then it started. Clever Instagrams. Creative YouTube videos. Virtual concerts. Someone recreating the Eiffel Tower out of toothpicks.  A talking dog named Pluto whose "mom," as I understand it, is now making a butt-load of money off him.  Worst of all, a relative showing off her daily projects, which included painting a washtub yellow, retiling her floor, and building a fountain, all the while narrating her accomplishments with an adorable squeaky Disney voice and a goofy little smile that just reminds me how cute I am not.  

 

So I made plans. I was going to practice guitar every day, learn to do complex fingerpicking patterns, master the intro to "Stairway to Heaven," and impress my friends. I was going to become fluent in sign language because I've always wanted to learn it and because those people doing the daily Covid briefings look so cool. I was going to finally learn to cook like a grown-up and surprise my kids, who grew up eating only those meals that could be created using noodles and Campbell's soup. (I was also going to get me some of that sourdough starter, but I realized that after I fed it and watched it grow, I would probably name it Blobby and become too attached to it to ever make it into bread.) 

Most importantly, I was going to pull out all of my barely-started novels, pick one, complete it in a month, get published again, have the book made into a TV show or movie, become very famous, and watch Universal or Disney battle over who would base its next theme park on it. Yes, I was going to achieve my Life's Dream.

 

Well, people, I didn't even finish watching Tiger King. I also have barely glanced at my guitar, and I definitely have not become a consummate chef, although I have indeed eliminated the Campbell's soup. On the plus side, I found a site that taught sign language, and I can now confidently make the signs for on, off, and dog, which will enable me to effectively communicate with my 18-month-old grandson should he ever take up signing and want to tell me that our dog can get on and off the table, even though she can't, and even though I still have to learn the sign for table.

 

And as for writing my next novel, I didn't do that either. Then someone suggested I not stress myself out and just write something for a few minutes a day, to get the juices going, so to speak. So I started today. And this is it.