Quarantine

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been slogging through this pandemic as if through a vat of sludge. Now that the end of the year is near, time drags at an unbearably slow pace. Funny how time speeds up and slows down depending on how you’re feeling about it. Thank God there is less than a month before 2020 is finally dead. Dead to me, I say! You can be sure of that.

At the beginning of lock down I went on a weird, manic shopping spree. I created a collection of enamel pins that I enjoy immensely. The pins are fun to look at and didn’t cost much. I have a Joe the Tiger King pin, a Jason Voorhees on a skateboard pin, a flying saucer pin, as well as pins with witty sayings on them like the CLOSED sign modified to say “Sorry, we’re closed off emotionally” or “The Price is Wrong Bitch.” A bowl of guacamole with the words “I know I’m extra” stenciled on the side. I keep them in a distressed Goodyear Tire bin on the shelf next to books about introverted leaders and the art of programming.

I bought clothes that I can now barely fit into because of the COVID weight I’ve put on over the past several months. Whether it’s my middle age or my ice cream habit, those 33s aren’t always an option, and I’ve only got a few 34s. I got a subscription to a clothing company that mailed boxes of clothes to me at agreed upon intervals, then I would choose which items I wanted to keep and send back the rest. I had a personal shopper that curated my boxes just for me. It was fun, like I was receiving a gift every month, because I’m special. Patterned long sleeve button downs and dressy casual pants in the color of Phantom. But then my waist expanded and I had other bills I needed to focus on paying and the fun of new clothes wore off, just like the initial fun of the shut down started to wear off. I had new clothes and I looked fabulous but all I did was put them on and parade around the living room, shaking it to dance anthems on Spotify (Charli XCX, Todrick Hall, Dua Lipa), getting my gay on and looking out the window and thinking to myself, this is all well and fun, but when am I actually going to put these clothes on and go out again? How long is this quarantine thing going to take?

The longer this year stretches out, the more people who get infected, the higher the staggering number of deaths from COVID climbs, the longer that twat in the White House keeps trying to wreak havoc and create chaos before he leaves…you would think I’d just shut down and give up. Surprisingly, that isn’t the case. Anticipation and optimism abound, I can feel it in myself and in others. It’s the exhilaration of avoiding a car accident, dodging a bullet, pure adrenaline pushes me forward in a state of excitement. We carry on. More aware, more frightened, yes, but more determined than ever to face this down and make it work. To honor the dead by making sure it never happens again.

I envision a massive party one day next year. We’re all invited. The pandemic is over, the vaccine has done what it needs to do, people are not dying anymore, and we’re all going to get together and smile and hug and dance, and there’s going to be an explosion of joy and happiness the likes of which we’ve never seen in our lifetimes. And I’ll be right there in the middle of it, laughing uncontrollably and crying tears of joy as I dance and hug it out with everyone else.