Help! Corona done got me trapped!

No, I don’t mean the frosty kind you consume with a wedge of lime.  I mean this god damned virus!  I need to vent. Maybe I can even vent a little for all of us.

First of all, yes, I live in Mesa, Arizona, where the weather has been perfect, and the virus has been manageable. Hospitals are busy, but not overrun, and food and household supplies are reasonably easy to procure.  

So why am I bitching?  

Woman, you might say, you work from home every day, anyway! Yes, I’m a writer who used to be a lawyer, and my days of dashing from office to courthouse are over, but  I live with my husband and my elderly mother in a house that should be plenty big for us – and our three dogs and four cats.  And I worry.  What if one of them gets the virus?  They both have substantial risk factors.  What if I get it, and can’t take care of them?

Have you ever heard of zoochosis?  Laurel Braitman wrote a book called Animal Madness: How Anxious Dogs, Compulsive Parrots, and Elephants in Recovery Help Us Understand Ourselves about the subject. The book profiles a dog that jumps out of an upper floor apartment, a shin-biting miniature donkey, a sobbing gorilla, and compulsively masturbating walruses. The animal behavior Braitman describes is a mental health condition caused by humans forcing animals to live in unnatural habitats. Think of it – being closed in a small space with other animals, with no control over your environment, and no idea of when you might be released...oh wait.  Welcome to coronavirus quarantine.

All of us are suffering a little from zoochosis. You may find ourselves pacing like the caged tiger, or, like a polar bear named Gus, swimming endless figure eights in your pool; before you know it,  you’ll don your mask and purple hospital gloves, and tell your family, “I’m running to Walmart for toilet paper. We’re down to our last 17 rolls.” When you see people on the internet posting how great it is to have time to center their auras and clean out their closets, you’ll sure, somehow, you’re doing quarantine wrong.  Well, I’m here to tell you, nobody knows how to do this shit; there isn’t a right and wrong way.  There just isn’t; y’all gotta do what keeps you sane. It’s either that or resort to the walruses’ chosen behavior.

So here’s my advice: If you are in recovery, PLEASE don’t use this as an excuse to swing by the liquor aisle as long as you’re at Walmart.  Get to an online meeting and keep working your program. 

Don’t shame yourself with unrealistic expectations. Don’t force yourself to compete with your friends who suddenly seem to be contestants on the Great British Bake Off. Paul Hollywood will not be knocking at your door for a handshake because your bagels were perfectly proofed. Don’t try to keep up with friends who are taking this time to Marie Kondo their entire house.  Do your best to move your body at least once a day, even if it is just to let the dog in or out (or in-out-in-out-in-out-in-out if you live at my house). Put on pants, even if they are pajama bottoms, and take a shower once in a while.  While it is tempting to binge-watch shows that remind you it could be a whole lot worse – remember to break up your eight straight hours of American Horror Story, or Intervention, or Cold Case Files and let Monty and Lori find someone the perfect wedding dress.     

Be tender with yourself.  It’s scary, even if you’re not directly affected by the virus; we all have parents and grandparents and friends with compromised immune systems.  Limit yourself to news consumption once a day. More than that, and you risk overload leads to feeling frustrated helplessness. Try something new, even if it’s just a new podcast, an easy yoga video from Youtube, or teaching your dog a new trick using the expired hotdogs.

Me?  They say practicing gratitude every day is better than Prozac, so when I’m not swimming figure eights in the pool, I think I’ll crack one of those beers, cut a slice of lime, and make a list of things I’m grateful for.  Cheers, Y’all.