I’ve been randomly keeping a log of thoughts on my phone, in my journals, or really anywhere that thoughts I want to write down hit me. I wasn’t planning on sharing them, but today I changed my mind and decided to share two entries from the end of March. There’s no point to them. They’re just thoughts… because right now, we all have them and sometimes, they’re worth paying attention to.

3.24.20

Let me paint you a picture

It’s 9:01pm on a Tuesday night. I’m on the couch — blanket over my lap, feet propped up on the coffee table, laptop in its rightful place (aka my lap). A candle is burning to my right and the screensaver on our AppleTV is a cloud-top view of a bright blue sky.

To my left, the overhead light above the dining table that we rarely turn on is shining bright as Dan sits at the table working hard on a coding problem or listening to his instructor teach. His AirPods are in so all is quiet with me. The chairs around the kitchen table are draped with laundry that’s been drying for three or four days, but no one’s coming over so who needs to put it away? Around the corner in our tiny galley kitchen, a large pot of homemade chicken noodle soup cools on the stove.

This is our new normal.

I’ll go to bed in an hour or so. Dan will eat dinner and watch a scary movie (or something equally unappealing to me). He’ll fall asleep around 1 a.m., kissing me as he climbs into bed. I’ll wake up by 6:30 a.m. and start my day again.

My morning routine has relaxed just a bit. I brush my teeth, but not my hair. I put on clothes, but no make-up. I don’t do yoga every morning anymore because I can work out at lunch if I want to, or head out for a run in the late afternoon. I pray and journal and then eat breakfast. I make coffee then sit down at the kitchen table and start my work.

Work will change slightly. There’s writing then meetings, writing then emails then writing some more.

Dan will wake up around 10 or 11. He’ll say hi, then drink the coffee that I left behind. We’ll watch Schitt’s Creek if I don’t work through lunch, then at 5:15 p.m., we switch spots and the cycle begins again — him taking class, me relaxing on the couch; him finishing class, me going to bed; him falling asleep and me waking up; me making coffee, him drinking it later; me finishing work, him beginning class.

Over and Over again.

Sometimes, when I’m in my seat at the kitchen table, I imagine we’re on a pirate ship, trapped in the hull as we plot our way out. Or maybe we’re the pirates, up late under lamplight, scouring a map in search of buried treasure. Or maybe Dan’s the captain, and I’m the first mate. He steers the ship while I climb up into the crows nest, protracting my spyglass to look for dry land.

Maybe tomorrow we’ll be in a treehouse, choosing to find joy in the games we play. And the next day, maybe we’ll fly to the moon in a metal rocket ship, or sail to the bottom of the sea in a glass submarine. Or perhaps we’ll be on a small wooden raft, exposed to the sun, bearing only the possessions that we really, truly need. Either way, no matter where we are, our vessel will move on the waves of our routine.

3.25.20

I keep thinking about what it means to be “normal.” I still brush my teeth every morning. I still make breakfast and I’m happy to eat it. I still do my job and go for a walk at least once a day. Isn’t all of that normal?

The only things that aren’t normal are that I don’t go into an office and I don’t pack a lunch. I don’t go to the gym (because it’s closed), and my freezer is stocked full for two weeks (which has never before been the case!). The grocery store is still open, but it feels a bit rebellious to go there, and most of the restaurants within my five-block radius have all but closed their doors. It’s eerie, it’s unknown, it’s uncomfortable.

This is not normal.

On the other hand, though, I keep thinking about all the people in the world — all the people in my city — who wish my not normal could be there normal. What about them? Will they be okay?

The Coronavirus Diaries: Pt. 1