It’s day XXX,XXX,XXX of isolating myself during what has developed into a world-wide pandemic, but you already knew that, you know, about the pandemic. I started writing a post on the third week after the “shelter in place” was announced by my County, but ran out of attention span and steam, something that is a hallmark of these difficult, unprecedented, uncertain times. (Also a hallmark: making fun of how companies and speechwriters and advertisers use “difficult, unprecedented, uncertain times”)

February 2020

A whole lot was going on for me personally and professionally. I had just gotten over being very sick at the early part of the month – a virus that took out almost everyone in the same hallway at work. One coworker and I had a stomach thing, but the rest got a weird lingering respiratory malady that of course we’re eyeing retroactively as the Coronavirus.

This was the month that things were getting uncomfortable. Of course, we all had been hearing of the virus, and tracking the first few cases in the US. By the end of the month, we were eyeing Washington state very nervously and I remember helping my brother virtually help his girlfriend order hand sanitizer to send to her daughter.

A couple of major shipping conferences through work had already been canceled as no one had a desire to travel, especially internationally. But it was definitely all viewed through a long-distance lens.

End of February 2020

Thinking back to that first weekend, before the (first?) “stay in place” order was issued to our state, I was full of vim and vigor and good humor. It didn’t seem real nor did it seem terribly serious. “Social distancing” suddenly was the term we all use(d), and the novelty of starting to conduct virtual meetings and events had not worn off, especially as we were thinking that this was going to get fixed in the next couple-few weeks.

My brother was visiting for a few days. We met in Northern California for a relative’s funeral then came down here to hang out and for me to use him as a handyman and kitchen-painter. We were here on the 29th and that’s the day that shit started feeling very real. He helped his girlfriend buy price-gouged hand sanitizer online and have it delivered to her daughter in Washington state, the area of high infection everyone was watching.

My brother opted to drive cross country to be with his new love (not to mention my sisters) on the east coast. It felt to all like a desperate flight and race against time and there was much relief when he settled in.

March 2020

On Facebook, nervously watched a friend, on a business trip to Barcelona, trying to get home before travel bans were issued. Social media – Facebook appears to be the place for adults to congregate, and social media in general seems to be the place people get their news. You can hear everyone devolving a few clicks during this time. My Facebook experience, already an annoyingly repetitive political echo chamber, becomes a hot mess of memes, shared disinformation, preachyness. Exhausting. A majority of what I see on TikTok (in compilation videos on other social media) is so stupid, I want to die. Yet I can’t look away. I quietly turn off my phone’s daily usage report. My life goes online. If I’m not on the computer, I’m on my phone or iPad. I’m not even sorry. This is shock I’m trying to get over.

At work, I idly ask the IT what it would take to get me set up at home in the unlikely possibility that we’d be asked to work from home. 48 hour laters, we’re told to work from home. Just for a little stretch of time! All the irony emojis here.

Third Saturday (3/13/2020)

That Friday, I had put out on Facebook that I would love to Facetime with anyone who wanted to. This was moments before Zoom rocketed forward to fill a need and everyone in the universe discovered video conferencing.

To my surprise, I had hour-plus FaceTime sessions with seven people over that weekend, and many more put in the queue. To a few, it was the first time having a video call. It was great. Connecting with people and having all the time in the world to chat and voice our fears was kind of monumental.

Thus begins the online life. Virtual Becky.

Since Then

It is now September 25. No end to going back to Real Becky in sight. Enough time has passed that I can look upon the pandemic’s early days with real nostalgia. The novelty of it all, the gifts of time, of sleep, of having the energy to seek out loved ones for new and novel ways to talk, to play, to connect. The baking! Seriously, banana and sourdough breads were like their own virus.

The shortages! A friend texted me in early April, asking if I wanted her to buy flour at Costco — she had spied some and it was in short supply. I said yes, not realizing the bag was a 25-pounder. It became a currency — I wheeled it on a dolly to peoples’ homes. A barter/trade page for my area was set up and I exchanged:

• a TV for a hand mixer
• old industrial shelves for a VCR (to digitize the family tapes)
• more old shelves for a blender
• flour for yeast
• flour for avocados
• garment rack for peaches
• a small food processors and a bunch of shirts for nothing on my end

The toilet paper shortage was puzzling and disturbingly real. Now it’s a common sight to see blank, empty shelves among fully stocked US of A shelves. And I joined the ranks of bidet owners.

I celebrated my birthday, attended two online funerals, had sexy Zoom time with a friend. I found a therapist, got some “just in case” therapeutic medications. I had several highly successful “work and chat sessions” with friends from all over, where we organized closets, assembled furniture, unpacked old boxes, sorted photos, and caught up.

I am grateful my brother kindly painted my kitchen way back in Feb., little did I know how much I’d use that fucking kitchen. EVERY SINGLE MEAL EVERY SINGLE DAY.

I am still employed, thank god. My employers have also been very sensitive to the stress and difficulty of maintaining this insane new life. They seem to be continually pleasantly surprised that we are as productive as we are. Surprises me as well, as my ability to concentrate is intermittent and I’m operating at a capacity that often is lower than I’d like. I’m choking up typing this, as I feel very aware (as I hear of yet more loved ones being laid off, fired, facing a very bad future) that I am so fucking lucky.

Work Pros: being able to do chores anytime I want instead of having to pack everything into the weekend or nighttime when I’m burned out; not feeling burnt out by work; only having to get presentable from the waist up; working on creative work projects uninterrupted and on my own time; feeling closer to some coworkers as a result of “these times”; having a lovely home to enjoy whilst working.

Work Cons: not having any contact with most coworkers; missing the small talk and little conversations that make the day pass; missing shopping at lunch hour with Julie; lacking the kinds of brainstorming and deep collaboration that only face-to-face interactions can bring; not seeing the ships and harbormasters and harbor; wondering if I died, how long would it be before anyone knew (to be fair, that’s more of a general con); if I got really sick, would I only have blank-faced strangers provide care and comfort? (same); not work burnout, but life burnout (same).

At times feel like being solo and pet-less in captivity is the hardest. Other times, I feel that not being in this with others (particularly school age children!!), that I’m the lucky one.

Social media continues to degrade. Politicizing the use of masks was the summer topic, but now the upcoming election is popping whatever existing brain cells of, well, everyone.

And I have to ignore news real-time because I have discovered that I have become a different person, chemically. Spiraling anxiety is now a thing for me and I have to be very, very careful about what I read or discuss. Insomnia is the norm and the aforementioned periods of inability to concentrate is a real malady. Depression isn’t really a factor, but grief and agoraphobia rear their heads on the reg. I am a different person.

I try to have regularly scheduled face-to-masked-faces with loved ones, but not too many. By the end of the work week I feel isolated and alienated from the world. My city and neighborhood feels dangerous and I use that an excuse to just let another day go by without physical self-care.

I have embraced internal self-care in terms of the spiritual program I follow and it is the thing that keeps me alive. It also makes me feel seen and heard, which is a hard feeling to acquire these days.

I find that (except when anxiety barges in and Changes the Schedule) that it’s generally a day-by-day reset. That I can’t say that “things are better” or “life is impossibly hard”. It’s more like “today feels ok” or “I want to fucking scream right this second”. Waking up anew in this Groundhog-Day-in-the-Twilight Zone will bring a completely new mood.

You can hear it when out in public or talking on the phone when our So-Cal jovial selves can’t help but ask “how ARE you?” The response is something like “weelllllll, YOU know…” or “things are incredibly rough” or “it’s pretty okay” and everyone nods knowingly. In a way I’ve never felt so honest and unguarded in my human interactions, even with strangers. Fuck your happy face persona! I can’t see it anyway, under that mask.

I have a weekly in-person art class that is the jewel of my week. We talk about art and music and theater and it feels normal. Occasionally I have to ask people to pull up their masks and sometimes the previous class attendees dawdle so there are too many people for comfort. But I have learned that I just need to take care of myself, and leaving is always an option. Something that is in the front of my brain as I contemplate a wedding I’m going to attend in two weeks.

I participated in a couple virtual improv shows. I don’t think they went well and I blamed them on the shaky improv itself. But maybe it’s impossible to fuse isolated individual and the ultimate collaborative art form. I hope that’s not the case.

I have no idea where this desire to write came from, but I’m going with it. This poor blog is not even accessible by the public, except for people who have it included in their RSS readers (hello!) but it’s easy to write in and — like everything else — it’s just for me at this point. Now that I’ve organized my paper clutter, I have been writing letters and postcards, much to the pleasure/irritation/puzzlement of loved ones.

The amount of home projects I have completed is so surreally large that it will be a separate post.

And that is all. Fucking 2020, man!