Everyone is counting these days.
The number of positive COVID-19 cases. Number of days working from home. Number of days since you had your roots done.
The number of greys on my head are now too many to count.
How many lives will be lost before there is a vaccine?
How many days can I wear the same yoga pants?
The number of people now out of work has surpassed 22 million.
The number of applications for shelter pet adoptions in New York City is ten times more than it was before we humans sheltered-in-place.
Kids have stopped counting the days until summer. Some kids may not remember how to count. Some adults have stopped knowing what day it is.
Home is where the office (and school) (and gym) (and church) (and bar) is.
I’ve done 3 workouts this week. I’ve had 6 glasses of wine. Prayed 4 times. I’ve only snapped 1 time at my husband. (That he could hear, anyway.)
Experts aren’t counting on a baby boom. Behavior during pandemic seems to be different than behavior during storms. Dating while distancing is challenging. Cohabitating, coworking, coparenting, cocrazy couples can’t get distant enough.
That’s two periods now. Two whole cycles of 28 days. Building up, breaking down, sloughing off, bleeding out.
Anxiety and depression have never been sexy.
I counted my pills. A 90-day supply, it turns out, was a good idea.
Commuting has all but decreased.
Traffic is lighter. Police across America issue tickets, many for speeds higher than 100 MPH.
I’ve been to Costco three times. Last time was the fastest.
They wouldn’t let me buy two organic olive oils. I always buy olive oils in twos.
But not now.
Graduations, weddings, funerals. Half-priced appetizers and two for one cocktails. That could all happen again.
But not now.