It snowed this past Saturday morning. I know this is New England and bipolar weather is to be expected, but I don’t care. Snow in mid-April is bullshit. I also concede that we got off pretty easy snow-wise this winter, and even had a 60 degree day in January. It's STILL BULLSHIT. Sure, this could have been the universe balancing itself out. But I don’t care. It’s been cold and dark for 7 months. I don’t even care that I can’t go out anywhere. I’m ready for spring weather. 2020 is supposed to be the future, according to science fiction (probably), so let’s get some climate-controlling satellites up in orbit! May as well put Trump’s Space Force to good use.
Weekends during the pandemic are pretty much like weekdays during the pandemic. I think the most obvious similarity is that we’re mostly stuck indoors (for obvious reasons). There’s nowhere to go, anyway, besides when venturing out to get groceries or gas. Remember weekends spent doing things like bowling, going to concerts, seeing a movie, or shopping at the mall? Like the legend of Atlantis, these activities are sinking into the mists of time. They are myths of a bygone era. Old crones can be heard spreading tales of days when restaurants were not simply relegated to offering takeout, but could actually invite patrons to journey within and seat them at a table to which food was brought! Fresh, warm bread, butter, and filtered water were given FREELY. AND if the meal was not prepared to your exact specifications, it could cost you NOTHING. Surely these tales of extreme hedonism can’t be true, but one wonders if these Utopian stories can inspire a better world once the world reopens.
That being said, there are notable differences between Saturdays and weekdays, even in this work from home era. Saturday mornings have become about 2 things for me. The first is taking advantage of the all-important opportunity to sleep in. This actually is temporarily downgraded from all-important to pretty-damn-important because the elimination of work commutes has given me about three extra hours every day. I can wake up with just enough time to jump in the shower and run a comb through my hair before my first Zoom meeting, if so I choose. So while catching up on sleep is essential, it’s easier to come by these days. This reclamation of time is what I’ll miss most when everything goes back to normal. The second thing is that Saturday morning is a mad scramble to get all major chores and errands out of the way. As soon as breakfast is done I’m off to the laundromat, the supermarket, and whatever other bland adult chore I have in front of me. As soon as I finish them, the weekend is MINE, I tell myself. Nevermind that I always think of some other oft-neglected chore that eats more time. But that’s life as an adult. THIS IS THE WAY.
As part of my errands, I went over to Market Basket during the afternoon and there was a line of facemask-clad people waiting outside. Where once people stood in line to get into exclusive nightclubs, they now wait for an opportunity to search for rare commodities like toilet paper and hand sanitizer.
But it's not all errands and boredom; Saturdays are also for sugar and empty calories. Because it was Cheat Day, I stopped by Honey Dew Donuts to curb my craving for a chocolate glazed doughnut. An additional bonus was that the woman working the counter was jovial, full of life, and was quick to laugh; we had a laugh out loud, fun conversatio, the kind of which has been lacking during this self-isolation It’s funny how quickly the ability to communicate atrophies when we’re in Obi-Wan Kenobi-style self-imposed exile. It felt good to exercise the mental muscles. Our two minutes together comprised the most in-person human interaction I’ve had in days, until my cousin came over in the evening.
Now, I’ve been pretty stringent about self-isolating since the pandemic began. I even completely cut off seeing people for a 2 week stretch last month. But in the name of not totally diving into the insanity that comes with living alone, one of the few people I am occasionally hanging out with is my cousin Josh. We planted our asses 6ft apart on my couch and watched Castlevania and old episodes of the Simpsons. It was pretty perfect, even with his corgi, Caboose, trying to gas us out of the living room, turning the treat I gave him into fuel for chemical warfare. If that is the cost of good company, I’ll take it. Geneva Convention be damned.
By the time Josh and Boose left, it would be less than 12 hours before the weather went from snowing to 60 degrees. Of course. Because New England.
