Response to Sherry McGuinn’s challenge
“What Day Is It?”
Okay, it’s not a mantra…I just really wanna know
Sherry McGuinn posted a challenge a few days ago, asking writers to share their mantra: the calming or repeated phrase that helps us get through these unsettling times.
Here’s my attempt.
Once upon a time, when the world had order and symmetry, my life had a dependable rhythm.
The week started with “I hate getting up” day, the first workday of the week. On this day, I groaned as I pulled myself out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom, and started the pendulum of activity for the week. Off to work I went (usually late), where I’d spend the first 30 minutes staring catatonically at my dual large screens until the Diet Coke kicked in. I talked with real, live co-workers, walked to the cafeteria for lunch, and attended meetings in a series of ill-heated/cooled conference rooms.
The next day was “I hate getting up even more today” day, wherein I groaned more deeply, shuffled more ponderously, and stared at my screen even longer. Everything else, pretty much the same.
The next three days were “Okay, I got it…I can do this” days, and I became more energized and productive as the week went along. I even cooked in the evenings (usually).
The last of those days would end with dinner out with my love, live music downtown in our small burgh (where my beloved would take photos of the band and I would sway to the music and smile, watching my passionate photographer) and, you know, come home to whatever developed (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). Date Night.
The weekend delivered luxurious moments of reading, spoiling myself with a Starbuck’s chai, farmer’s market in the summer, puttering in the yard, watching a movie or two, singing with a choir of wonderful people in church, and delicious naps.
Enter global pandemic…
Days 1 through 5 (did they used to have names?) have lost all structure. My dining room table is my new desk, I work on a small laptop screen, and I spend hours each week staring at my coworkers in little Brady Bunch boxes, hoping to steal a glimpse of their a) furniture, b) spouse/children, or c) pets. Mostly the pets. I just want to see the pets, to be honest.
I make myself a pitiful bowl of oatmeal in the morning — eaten as I hunch over my computer — and an equally pitiful cheese sandwich for lunch— consumed as I lounge on the couch catching up on social media and The Waltons.
Days 6 and 7…well, they’re now pretty indistinguishable from the previous five.
I don’t even bother to number them anymore. Is this day 5? 6? I ask repeatedly.
Recently, I got up on Day 7 and started doing Day 4 activities, because, really, what’s the difference?
What I do know is that it’s harder to keep up with laundry, groceries, and housework now that I’m home all day. Every day.
Did I mention that I’m home every day?
The pets are confused. Delighted, but confused and more badly behaved than ever. Otis D. Cat even took to peeing on the carpet for a week, which caused me to work/videoconference with a spray bottle in one hand to protect the carpet from further stank. The dogs, who used to last 9–10 hours between potty breaks, now insist on going out nearly hourly and talking loudly with neighbor dogs. And usually in the middle of a meeting.
I fully realize that working from home is a privilege. I’m blessed and thankful that I have a portable job. Truly. I’m lucky, and I’m doing fine.
I just wanna know, WHAT DAY IS IT?
P.S. Also, when does Date Night resume?
© Tina L. Smith, 2020
I lack the wit and vigor of Sherry and the genius of P.G. Barnett. But it was fun to play along, and I’m grateful for the opportunity.
About the author: Tina L. Smith works by day as an administrator of an academic medical research program and by night as a writer and a partner in her boyfriend’s commercial photography business.
