A Day in the Life (Pandemic Edition)
I wrote this a few months ago to document a day in my life during quarantine. Enjoy it, or don’t.
I wake up punching the air. In my dream, I am fighting off an entire crowd for a donut or some other very attainable doughy treat. I wake up at 6 am because my neighbor is training for a decathlon or performing an exorcism with kettlebells — it can only be one of these two things. It is always loud and lasts for 75 minutes.
I spend the rest of my morning thinking about punching my neighbor through the wall and intaking as much fiber as possible. I am 33.
I start my video conferencing circuit at 11 am, where I am confronted with two hard truths: 1) I am not as attractive as I think I am, and 2) the success of my comedy routine hinges entirely on real-time consumption. (I don’t know how to accommodate the 3.5-second lag, and I guess I have the bone structure of a cephalopod.)
I spend my afternoon agonizing about this and four other things:
-Racial injustice and how my actions help and hurt
-The six ripe bananas on my counter and their potential for greatness
-How flour must be measured with the exactitude of a neurosurgeon because there’s no margin for error in baking, motherfucker
-What is going on?
My nighttime routine is a cocktail of exercise, dinner, actual cocktails, and the occasional virtual game night. More thoughts about what the fuck is going on creep in as the combination of fear, ZzzQuil, magnesium, and blunt force emotional trauma lull me into a temporary coma.
