NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
My family and I are not ill. Yet.
And we’re not “officially” quarantined for any real reason other than not wanting to come into contact with any more potentially sick people than we have to. I can leave the house if I want to. And if you tell me I can’t, then I probably will.
I’m sure Wifey and B notice the pademic-nish of COVID-19-’20 life more than I do; I’m not one to leave the house for more than I have to even in the healthiest of times. I believe I’m what is called an extroverted introvert (with a twist of depression, ADHD, self loathing, body dysmorphic disorder, shame, more shame, and existential angst). Of course, I’ve also been called an asshole, a dick, a dumb fuck, my lazy good-for-nothing son, that loser my daughter married, and a fat drunken moron. For the sake of simplification and truth, we’ll stick with an “extroverted introvert.
My Normal Reasons to Leave The House:
- Food/beer shopping
- Hikes
- The gym
- Bike rides
- Soccer practice/matches
- Family errands, pick ups, drop offs, etc.
- Appointments (Mind bender, doc, dentist, etc.)
- Food and/or drink with friends. Usually not my idea, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. I love my friends, I’m just not good about committing to activities.
vs. Being Not Really Quarantined:
- Food/beer shopping
- Family errands, pick ups, drop off, etc.
- Hikes
- Appointments (Mind bender, doc, dentist, etc.)
- Bike rides will soon make an appearance, but not until I return to YesTubes, and a hint of warmth enters the air.
No huge changes other than soccer (boo!) and not having to go out to eat anywhere (yeah?).
Vintage RAM along a road in west Michigan.
Working some hours in the bike shop used to take up my time, but I fired myself a few months ago for not giving a shit about other people’s bikes, my inability to work and simultaneously babysit the daily onslaught of village idiots in the shop, and a lack of mechanical knowledge other than fixing flats and lubing chains1.
Leaf so hot, it be meltin’ shit.
My Ex/In personality was perfect for cubical life— I had my own space but had the chance to interact with others when I chose to. Sadly, a 48-year-old man living in a small town who hasn’t worked a “real” job in ten years, has a shit two-year for-profit art school degree, and 25 years of meaningless graphic arts experience, means that instead of a cubical in my future, I will be donning the body slimming Hunger Games meets UPS polyester uniform of a nearby McDonald’s franchise when the financial clock of time tolls for thee. Or turning tricks down by the docks. I hear that aging dad-bod types are cleaning up these days. Apparently, we represent that “give up on life,” dumpy, normal male look that so many people (psychos and the blind) find sexually attractive. Or there are just a lot of clients with “daddy” issues.” Either way—fat guys for the sex trade win! 2
I digress.
Feet whilst sitting on The Riverside Bench of Ancient Herb soaking in the sun. Or I’m taking a shit.
Semi-joking aside, being not really quarantined, is pretty easy for me. For the sake of the rest of the world’s sanity, I hope it doesn’t go on too long. I don’t think the rest of the world should be subjected to what amounts as normalcy for me.
As I laid awake in bed last night in a “foggy state” of worldly ennui, I grappled with the complete surrealness of the current situation. I thought the past 1,152 (and counting) days of the orange fuck face in the White House was the surrealist fucking thing I’d ever seen, that had nothing on the orange fuck face in the White House while a goddamn worldwide pandemic is happening!!!
Common you buds!!
Final note: I will literally urinate on the next person I hear say the phrase “social distancing.” My hate is turned up to 11 on that term, my bladder is full, and my stream is surprisingly powerful and long (I knew all those prostate exercises would pay off).
I guess I need to leave the house now. I wrote this, and have no irrelevant to the text photos to post.
*I’m back, pictures got, with a couple from my drive around looking for a certain preserve last Saturday.*
Quarantine beard coming in nicely.
***
Happy Saint Pandemic’s Day to me.
***
Lola sleeps. Jake plans a murder.
Later.
- I’m not thrilled with being career-less, and it’s taken a lot of alcohol, along with therapy and meds to help me deal with that. I thank Wifey and her big brain for keeping the lights on and more. On paper, being a stay-at-home slacker seems like it would be great. Until you are one and realize that all your friends are at work or school, and you’re alone or with two smelly dogs, watching the clock until you can have a semi-guiltless drink. There’s nothing to envy here. Hate me. LOATH me. Sucker punch me in my fat face if you see me. I deserve it. Just be happy in knowing that no matter how much you hate me, I hate me more.
- For an upcharge I can also be your World Literatures prof from sophomore year (you passed by doing the extra credit), or your priest (you avoided hell—SO FAR!— with my “customized for you” penance program).