Baby Covid

. . .
 The other day I wrote to my local radio station:
“While I appreciate your fervent coverage of the Corona-virus, I feel that we’ve all become like new parents who used to have myriad interests, and now we only talk about our baby. Baby Covid.”
I was quite pleased when my brief correspondence was chosen as “Letter of the Day” and Tom Tangney said, “that’s perfect.” 

Baby Covid has indeed consumed my thoughts, conversations, and even my dreams. (Last night I dreamt I was getting married. I wore a plastic gown and a mask. None of my friends could attend because they were quarantined. Right before the ceremony I stole away to the Trader Joe’s directly across the hall from the venue, where I asked the employee if I could skip the social distancing line because “I’m getting married in 5 minutes and I just really need a snack.”)
In the time of Covid, even the most chill humans become obsessive and the thought-stuck. This is familiar territory for me. In the regular times, if there is nothing to worry about, I will find something. This makes me well suited for a pandemic because constant worry is my normal condition, and I know how to cope: keep moving. Constant movement will stave off The Worry, and also keep you thin. If you stop moving, even for a moment, The Worry will catch you and consume you with its unsympathetic and relentless darkness. (This is the opener of the wildly unpopular children’s book I am now planning to write entitled: “The Worry.”)

This afternoon, I received a text from my sister Sarah. 

“Do you think I could pull off a shaved head look?”

I love that she doesn’t feel the need to delicately ease into this topic. 

I respond, “I recommend not deciding this during a crisis.”

“Why? I figured now would be the time bc I don’t have to see anyone.”

“Yes. Good. You might be cold.” 

“Also I baked sugar cookies on wax paper for 5 minutes. Are they still edible?”

Later, I share my sister’s text with Fr. We are unloading our takeout tofu sandwiches. 

"Maybe I’ll shave my beard.”

“Oh . . . that won’t take too long to grow back right?”

“Why?"

"I’ve never seen you without a beard in real life."

"Are you worried?"

  . . . I do enjoy worrying, but worry is not the right word.

I don’t answer. 

"A person must have a strong jaw to pull off a mustache,” he continues. He is adept at being barely on topic.

"I like mustaches.”

"Henry Cavill’s mustache-plus-three-day-scruff is something we should all aspire to."

“I appreciate that you notice when other men look good.” 
He turns on Step by Step and our dinner routine begins. We both deconstruct our sandwiches and eat the various components with fork and knife. I think of our first date when we both asked for forks to deconstruct our pizza slices. 
That's when I knew I would love you. 

“We should eat out more because we both have jobs. We must support our community.”

"It’s our civic duty. Like voting." 

With a mouth full of tofu I pronounce, "We’re like heroes.”

“Only I dislike to-go boxes.” 

“Right. They are gross."

It’s weird what has been deemed essential. I’m glad restaurants are open because it sure is swell having other people prepare food for me in a kitchen that is not mine; however, I could get food if restaurant were closed, so I think the ‘essential’ label is incorrect.

Last night I was out of hand soap, so I went to the incontrovertibly essential grocery store next door. It was just before 10pm. I could have waited until the morning, but this excursion was part of the constant-movement-worry-evasion I mentioned before. As I approached the doors, Dakota Duran (Safeway manager, and best dressed) was starting to close them. 

“Oh shoot are you guys closing?”

“We’re trying to . . . but I’ll let you in because you’re a regular.”

I’m a REGULAR.

DAKOTA. RECOGNIZES. ME.

Dakota is a person who is very committed to his look. He wears a leather jacket and skinny jeans. His sleek black hair brushes his shoulders and is styled with a severe side part and sweeping bangs that hide his dark eyes and make him mysterious. He stands out. He is recognizable. And he recognized ME.

Flattered, I gather and purchase my essential hand soap, ice cream, and a fizzy water. A yelling man is blocking the exit; a couple outside the store are not giving him the 6 feet of space he requires. I choose to believe he simply doesn't want to leave Dakota. This is something I understand. 

Here is what I learned from journaling today:

• Movement evades the worry.
• If you are going to shave your head, do it now.
• Also pertinent to anyone considering a mustache. 
• Wax paper and parchment paper are not the same.
• Men: don't be afraid to acknowledge when other men look good. 
• Eating out frequently is a civic duty and makes you a hero.
• Being a regular at the grocery store will serve you well during a pandemic.  

. . . 

Tonight on Step by Step, a famous photographer is looking for the next superstar teen model in Port Washington, Wisconsin. Karen feels entitled to this. Al is chosen because she is rude and has “edge.” Karen is mad, but then realizes she should not feel entitled. This is the 10th episode where Karen has learned this lesson.