Tell me if anyone else feels this way — I bet I’m not alone — I feel like I’ve lost all perspective and ability to judge … anything.
I rarely leave the house, I Zoom only occasionally. Most of my work and personal business can be conducted through text and email. So most days I’ll sit in my sweaty workout clothes until they dry because fun fact: Sports bras are even harder to pull off when they’re wet. It just seems dumb to shower. I’m not sure when exactly during this pandemic I turned into a teenage boy, but I think it was around April 9.
If I do shower, I’ll do nothing else. Just leave my hair to airdry. No makeup. I mean, if I have to run to the grocery store, half my face is covered with a mask so there really doesn’t seem to be much point.
There doesn’t seem to be much point to a lot of things lately.
Just to shake life up the other day and make Blursday* more interesting, I decided to do a full face of makeup and style my hair. The occasion: picking up a prescription!
I pulled out my magnifying mirror and went to work. I flipped the mirror back and forth from Mr. Magoo setting to normal 20/20 vision. Does that look right? Is my eyeliner even? Can you even see any eyeshadow? Are my brows too dark? Wait, does my hair look dumb?
Everything felt off and wrong.
I pulled on a T-shirt dress and that felt weird, too. Like I should just still be in my comfy, drawstring sweat shorts and T-shirt. Exerting any effort feels like such a waste — and inappropriately superficial with so many bigger life and death issues in the world.
I will admit to engaging in retail therapy** and I refuse to feel bad about that because all the nice, supportive people on Instagram keep talking about how important self care is and shopping is how I choose to do it. Still, I can’t bring myself to slip my feet into the cute blue slides I lusted after for months and finally bought or pull on the brown leather crossbody bag I scored for so cheap. It’s like I feel like the cool, new things I love will be tainted somehow if I wear them during this time of supreme suckiness, like they’ll be forever remembered with a mentally inscribed scarlet ‘C.’ Weird, but it’s how I feel.
Cooking, which I used to actually really enjoy, is a chore these days. Even before our lives were upended, I cooked. A lot. I might actually be hovering over the stove less these days because we’re trying to support local restaurants with takeout orders that include one from a 15-year-old boy who eats like, well, a teenage boy. You’re welcome, Tucson eateries that can now make payroll for the week on his order alone. Cooking used to be kind of therapeutic, but I feel so unmotivated. It doesn’t help that my husband’s COVID craft is making cocktails like a middle-aged Brian Flanagan*** so halfway through dinner prep I forget what I’m doing anyway.
What’s my point? I dunno, maybe that I could use a good recipe if you’re willing to share. Also, if you do spot me at Sprouts, you definitely want to step back a few more feet.
*My husband adopted this one from somewhere, and it’s just so spot-on that I’m swiping it, too.
**Just to show that I still have some optimism for the world, I bought four sweatshirts during this Tucson summer that is the hottest in the 125 years that weather records have been kept.
***Oldster movie reference to Tom Cruise’s character in the supremely bad “Cocktail.” Joe’s cocktails are much better than that lame flick.