What day is it today?
The woman on the other end of the phone asked, “How’s your day going?” “Oh, about the same as yesterday...” “Good one,” she says. At least I could inject a bit of humor.
I don’t know about you, but for those of us quarantined at home, it seems as though every day is Sunday: one yawning day without very many milestones. I consider receiving the mail a major event. The governor’s daily address at 2:30 ish in the afternoon is another.
At the beginning of this stay at home order I told myself that I would use noon as a cutoff: I had to be out of my pajamas by noon. Do I dare tell you that it is past 4:00 and I’m still in my nightgown? Let’s just say I’m getting in touch with my inner sloth. This order also breeds laziness. At one point I was counting out the number of underwear I had until I had to do laundry.
What is wrong with me?
I used to be a productive member of society: I read the newspaper daily. Now I collect the newspaper from the driveway every two days, I figure everything can wait a day. I used to take the recycling out on Sunday afternoon for Monday’s pickup, now I wait until the cover of darkness on Sunday night so that I can take it out while wearing a nightgown under my long coat.
Wake me when this is over.
I’m Rosie Klepperand that’s my perspective.
