TomFlannery.com

You do start to go a little potty after a while.

The new routine is locked in by now.

If you’re fortunate enough to be able to work from home…..you rise later than usual and ignore your hygiene. Try not to look in the mirror. There ain’t nothing good in there. Put on sweat pants and the T-shirt that was on the floor. Stumble over to wherever your work space declared it would be. Connect. Check emails. Do whatever it is you do. Have virtual meetings. Stand up repeatedly. Wander around the house. Pretend you never saw the invite to meetings that you don’t want anything to do with. Open and close the refrigerator. Drink another soda. Stream your spotify for company. Have conversation with the dog. Monitor the weather. Check the clock. It feels like it should be 5pm. It’s 9:30am and you’ve been online for 14 minutes.

Check your phone. Texts? Facebook? Check again. Wonder how this one or that one is doing. Text them. Stare at the screen getting pissed off when they don’t respond immediately. Turn on the TV. Turn off the TV. Feed the dog. Get hungry. Eat something that’s bad for you. Contemplate exercising it off. Change your mind. Consider day drinking. Suddenly realize you have an actual job. Do some work. Break up a family fight. Break up another family fight. Trash talk your co-workers via IMs. Exchange gossip. Have another soda. Search for animated GIFs. Dog starts freaking out. It’s the mail being delivered. Contemplate if you should go outside to the mailbox in your current…er….unkempt condition. Looking like Michael Keaton in Beetlejuice. You’re out of shits to give so…..out you go. When is the last time you actually wore pants anyway? You’ll need to have that discussion with yourself soon. But not today. Too much to do. That leisurely walk to the mail box. Breathe in that air. It feels good. But you walked across the grass in your socks and forgot that it rained last night. The excuse you need for at least a partial change of clothes. Glass half-full.

Pick up the mail. Study it intently. It’s bills you can’t pay. Lots of stuff might be shut down, but it ain’t affecting the bills. Strange how that works, eh? Toss them on the table. Play with the dog….who greets you at the door like you’ve been gone for 2 days. We’ve got lots of ‘plaining to do to our pets when this is over.

Lunch. Eat something else that’s bad for you. Then do laundry. Then make the bed. Lunch hour has taken on an entirely different meaning. You have meetings in the afternoon….so you must unclutter. Break up another family fight. Do the dishes. Look out the window. Storm clouds. Watch the trees. More wind. Hope your evening workout doesn’t get washed out.

Somebody sends you an IM at work, asking you to do stuff. That now familiar beeping noise. You’re first question is, “do I know you?” You don’t. They were given your name by somebody else, who noticed that in the past you occasionally showed flickers of competence. It’s the office Scarlet Letter. You’re forever doomed. So you do what they ask……because you were raised Irish Catholic and can’t deal with guilt. Word gets around. More people you don’t know ask for stuff. You do it, because honestly you’re grateful that your life hasn’t been as upended as some. You’re grateful that you still have the job. You’re actually more productive these days. Anything to not think about what is happening around you. Any diversion is a a positive one. So yea, I can do that.

You have questions. You start looking for your co-workers. They’re all MIA. They are not Irish Catholics.

It’s getting close. You knock off early….because time no longer has any real meaning. The second you log off your phone starts blowing up with requests. You log back on and do more work. You see your boss posting pics of alcohol on Facebook. That’s the signal. You shut down for the day and never look back.

Dinner. Something bad for you. Then exercise. Run. Or a walk. Jam a hat on your head to cover the nest. A good hour or more to clear the mind. Your senses are in overdrive. You notice everything. Every car and bird noise and sidewalk crack and cloud formation. You keep moving until it starts to hurt. You need to get all the lethargy from the hours inside, out….all at once. You arrive back home and collapse in your favorite chair. Slug back a bottle of water until the sweat dries. Contemplate showering. Do the math. How many days has it been? Impossible. Your family assures you it’s not. Check your phone. Surely your crew are blowing it up to check in with you. Well. They must be busy.

Take your own Covid inventory. Any symptoms? That depends, so you need to check with all the experts online to learn the new ones. I sprained my left knee running on Friday night. I wonder if that means I have covid. While checking, I sneeze…and then sneeze again. Into my elbow for sure, because I’m not a savage. But still. Surely I’m doomed. But then I realize the cat is above my head, and I’m kinda allergic. Also, a sprained knee is not from Covid. It’s from running while old. YouTube tells me this, so it must be true. Exhale.

Shower. Put on the same sweat pants you’ve been wearing for 60 days, and a t-shirt that belongs to somebody else. Reach for a beer. Ponder.

It’s dark now. A book. Netflix. Something to ward off early oblivion. Hug your family. Because despite it all, you’re one of the lucky ones.

Tomorrow is another day. To do it all again.

Hang together, or we’re gonna hang separately.

In a bit..

–tf