Oh God. It’s been a hot sec since I posted on this thing. How incredibly trite of me to make my comeback during the international quarantine. The tiny Vonnegut that lives inside my brain is screaming at me, and I must oblige him, so… so it goes.
What’s a girl to do without human interaction, or some semblance of spice in my life? I can’t go to the bar where everybody knows my frickin’ name, which is a tragedy in and of itself. I can’t go to my sushi restaurant, or my French patisserie. I can’t even take a dip in my apartment complex’s pool anymore, because that is 'asking for it' defined, enunciated, and used in a sentence. And to add insult to injury, it is with deep regret that I must report that the last of the coffee grounds are now gone after I made this morning’s pot. They told me all throughout my schooling years not to procrastinate, and everything always turned out fine, but tomorrow morning… I’m gonna hate myself with such vigor. I’ve been working from home since Friday, which has gone smoother than expected. Of course, there have been a few cock-ups (feeling sorta Hugh Grant-y for that one) due to the array of mass video conferencing technology, but for the most part, we are all just figuring this out. Isolation isn’t necessarily conducive to the workflow, but thankfully we live in a digital age where we can suddenly be in each other’s living rooms, waving at our co-workers’ dogs and children. It’s a beautiful reminder that work is just the tip of the iceberg, and we all have these completely separate lives behind the scenes. My parents are probably laughing as they read this because I’m mixing my metaphors, and I am so over it. To combat the boredom of this newly reclusive society, I drove to the top of a parking structure a few miles down the road in Santa Monica last night, to watch the sunset over the ocean. Lauren is home in Sacramento right now, and I am conceding to the cold facts that social distancing is absolutely necessary, so I went by myself. Just to clarify, I do things by myself all the time, as I do quite enjoy my own introspective process. But like… this time I didn’t even have a choice. So I kinda craved the company. It was so fucking textbook, it killed me. This virus straight-up paved paradise, and I ended up on top of a parking lot. (Close enough, Joni Mitchell?) While I was up there, staring at the swirl of orange and pink that melded so delicately into the windswept Pacific, I put on an old Taylor Swift album just for some serenity. Oh-ho-ho, baby. No such peace was granted, but not in a bad way. I seemed to have forgotten that any Taylor Swift song that I was imbued with as a teenager will ALWAYS require a performance so passionate that it reverberates my hippocampus back to whatever the fuck I was up to at age fifteen. And yeah, you bet your ass I listened to Fifteen. So I’ll be singing. I’ll be watching sunsets. I’ve been going on runs in the evening, and pounding away at my writing projects. I’ve been drinking wine, and reading, and taking cold showers, and listening to music that takes me back to what feels like another eon. This quarantine, however brief or long, will undoubtedly feel like its own eon. Three weeks ago, I was sliding my drink down the bar for a taste-trade. Not sure I'll be pulling THAT shit ever again.
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