So what's interesting about it?
As things were just starting to ramp up, Heather came for a planned visit. It's hard to self-isolate when your best friend is a night shift nurse with ADD on vacation, so we had to get out of the house despite the flurry of warning. Our days were bookended with trips to the weed store or Costco and epic games of Scrabble. I took her to get Botox from the guy who does mine. We wandered around the neighborhood, grateful to live in a place with lots of beautiful plants and houses and murals and a beach at the end of it.
In the middle of it all, we escaped to Joshua Tree to stay at a Zombie-themed shack next door to a trailer park hotel, where we binged awesome pizza, saw shooting stars, and sat by a fire in a teepee.
We let Mack lead us off a trail to a boulder-filled riverbed in search of a palmed oasis and hoped our ankles held up. Heather got spiked by a cactus and I plucked the pricks from her thigh while she stood bravely in her underwear in a room full of fellas.
I took her to the airport with a handful on N95 masks I had in the garage for cleaning my chicken coop. There was some mouse poop in the bottom of the box, so perhaps they'll end up being the source of Covid-20. We do what we can.
After Heather left, I did a few-day stint at work, which was as dead as it's ever been. I almost burst into tears as I turned into the parking lot on my first day back. I was terrified and obligated, torn in half by a desire to protect myself and help others. It felt like I was lining up for the firing squad. I had to swallow that worry down and remind myself that being brave meant doing things despite being afraid. I talked about this bizarre conflict with some co-workers in the break room and tears welled up in our eyes. Cops brought us donuts and coffee, restaurants sent us meals, we felt loved and appreciated. We had to plead our case to get a mask from our supervisors.
I checked the temperatures of every ambulance run that came in that wasn't on the verge of dead and offered it to staff if they asked what the hell I was doing. I felt like a Walmart greeter. I also spent a shift in triage, where I wore a mask and goggles and made everyone who entered use the hand sanitizer upon entering the room. In 4 days I think I saw 10 patients, most of whom were psych. It ended up being a great time to connect with my coworkers and use our sick sense of humor to make us feel a little more at ease with our enemy and the battle ahead. A battle that I knew I'd watch from the sidelines, since we had a month-long getaway/renovation job in St. Thomas that was planned way before Chinese New Year ignited the coronavirus.
Everything was cancelled. Volleyball for me, medical conferences for him. Bubba's nursing school graduation. Laila's classes. We took it as a sign and moved our departure date up. Our plane to the island had maybe 30 people on it, including one grouchy guy who was pissed about paying extra for the better seats when the plane was mostly empty. It sounds romantic and fortunate, and in a lot of ways, it has been. Especially before they closed the beaches. But in a lot of ways it's added an extra layer of torture. Is that interesting? Or disgusting?
We have a lot of time to feel guilt and gratitude right now, and it's a swirly mix daily. Frustrated with boredom, elevated by books. Annoyed that we can't get 90-Day Fiancé here because Hulu loves boundaries, renewed by a little dips in the aquarium outside our door that we do illegally most days.
I look forward to throwing rice at the chickens when they walk by with their babies. I love the sound of the wind in the palms and the crash of the waves. I feel obligated to check on the two lobsters hanging out at the reef we visit to make sure I can still find them. It's a thrill to see a soldier crab walking on the sidewalk. I hate that I love the air conditioning, not because I can do things without sweating but because my mosquito bites itch so much less. I miss touching people. I miss being careless about touching pens and keypads and door handles and shopping carts. I miss restaurants. I miss the sound of other people's laughter, especially if I was the thing that got it out of them. Mack's great and all, but the burden of isolation is really too much for one human. I'm jealous of big families. I bet parents of big families wish they were me. Is this interesting? Or pathetic?
The isolation has made us weirdly social people. We befriended our contractor Jose, who learned that we are late sleepers without any conscious input from us. We polished off two bottles of wine and ate black bean stew with (and courtesy of) our neighbors Corrine and Ivan, a brilliant combination of British sailor and environmentalist and Caribbean Olympian/actor/spear fisherman/community-made mayor. I'm looking forward to Scrabble night with them this week. I need to bring them some chocolate if I can find it. And wine.Other items on the List of Things to Look Forward to This Week include a trip to get groceries since hardly any restaurants are operating and, hopefully, the arrival of Mack's electronic piano. We miss the music that usually fills our mornings. Maybe we'll also get our washer. We ordered it 2 weeks ago, but the handle was broken and the ferries weren't running and then there was Easter and island time. Last week, we managed to move in, get our dryer, get WiFi, and have the air conditioner installed. I'll probably keep up my routine of sweeping the floor and mopping daily. I have really cultivated a love of sweeping, probably because our place is so small it's low effort for high yield. I have also cultivated disdain for FaceTime, probably because it shocks me into harsh reality every time I open it. I love to see my lovies faces, but I can't stand the look of my own... it matches my voice. We haven't had a mirror in our lives since we moved in, and I forget how wild and greasy I can look, especially in muggy climates like the one we're in. Today I had to apologize to Jose when I opened the door for him to do some plumbing work because I went to bed with wet hair and I know the range of appearance that can get.
(Mack just caught a mosquito with our electric racket: "Mess with the bull, get the horns." The thrill of catching one of those bastards is worth remark.)
I don't know how long this will last. But I do know that the sweet agony of it has settled down on us, and I hope that at the end I'll feel the same fondness for it that I feel about my last summer vacations as a kid in Kentucky. That hot season when my mom kept us out of the house since she was trying to sell it and we were living disasters who survived on Nerds and Nachos at the swimming pool. When Heather and I bounced around the neighborhood between our houses like nomads. When I kissed my first boy and discovered that I could inflate my bathing suit top to make it look like I had giant boobs. When I broke my collar bone coming home from the dentist and had to swim in a brace. When we climbed into the bathtub to protect ourselves during a tornado warning and Leiah peed on all of us since Heather's mom refused to let any of us get out of the tub. When everything was carefree and slow, drastic change was on the horizon, and I was learning without even trying to.
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