I thought I’d be better at this. I don’t know why…nothing about isolation and sacrifice is particularly up my alley, but I did. I thought I would weather this with poise, and cheerful acceptance. A heroine in an Austen era book. A long suffering, sympathetic character that everyone roots for and who triumphs gracefully (and stylishly).
I thought I’d be better at this. I am remarkable in emergencies. When the shit hits the fan, be it a medical emergency or a major life change, I handle it. I roll with the punches, I improvise, I make quick decisions and they usually turn out to be the right decision. But apparently, when the emergency is a fog of questionable time spent in my home with no Target or bars or restaurants, I am not remarkable.
I thought I’d be better at this but I’m not. I’m not even mediocre at this. I’m somewhere between complete rubbish and total shit. Isolation is making me mean and snappy. It’s making me lazy. I thought I’d get a good routine going, get the kids some education right here at home, and mostly I just don’t shower until I start to offend myself and the kids watch TV for hours on end because getting out of bed feels dumb.
And I don’t know quite where I’m going with this except I’d make a really shitty heroine and I’m a total asshole when I can’t leave the house and that if you too feel like you wanted to be a Beth or a Jane and ended up being more of an Aunt March or Mr. Brocklehurst, then solidarity, but the not touching kind. The 6 foot minimum solidarity.
And if you don’t know these characters, then GO READ THE BOOKS! What better time than now? #quarantine