I knew I was in a dream but couldn’t find a way out. Swirling all around me TV screens were playing similar breaking events coverage on the coronavirus pandemic. But, instead of pictures showing brave healthcare workers and military hospitals being fashioned out of now-closed casinos, these images were more varied. Pictures of pollution. Deforestation. Then some pictures of caged and abused animals came into view. There was one TV with an anchor talking about the death of society, apparently “cell phones and computers had turned us into bots, minions of consumption who don’t dare look away from their screens” (I’m paraphrasing). Then a TV with just a death toll ticker came into view, kind of like CNN’s, except nightmare version came with an announcer. Like an auctioneer at Sotheby’s, he called out the location and age of the newly deceased as the numbers ticked higher. His tone and the tone of the other anchors wasn’t angry. Their words weren’t defiant. They sounded subdued and almost contrite. This is what we get. Then the channel changed.
It was like a bad Universal Studios ride based on the teary soliloquies of Greta Thunberg and the movie WALL-E. My brain must have taken the story of dolphins returning to the canals of Venice, done meth, and decided it was a must see. Evidently my mind used the storyline from Avatar to fill in the blanks.
I woke up the next morning to the dusty crack of light illuminating the exotic baby tiger snoozing to my left (just kidding, Carole, you psycho), almost forgetting the reality that I now lived in. At around 9:43 am Hudson and I decided to mosey to the Kitchen and assess the damage. Eek, two bottles of wine down, and evidently the Brynn of last night didn’t feel like doing the dishes. Woof. Still in my PJs, I threw on “the coat” – dog owners will know this is the warm, one-size fits all garment that sits on a dining room chair or door-side hook, awaiting the next bowel movement from their four-legged friend – and walked outside. My neighbor, Amy, was sitting on her deck, mimosa in hand. She gave me a cheery wave. “Cheers!” I said back and I shuffled inside through the sliding door.
The rest of my new routine followed like every morning. I fed Hudson, chugged my coffee, and toyed with the idea of changing from my PJs to my daily uniform of black leggings, flannel, high socks, and a Carhartt hat. Footwear you ask? It’s 2020, no footwear needed as there’s nowhere to go – just my bean boots that reside next to “the coat.” Days I don’t make the change from nighttime PJs to athleisure comfies by 10 am you can expect happy hour to start around three. Alas, I sat down to work, which I typically do on and off until whatever time necessary – stopping intermittently to eat one of my 348934 meals of the day, Facetime my family, and walk Hudson.
Though it might sound like a mundane existence, with CNN’s revolving door of anchors constantly chatting in my living room I’m never really alone. Their coverage of life as we now know it acts as a metronomic lullaby, one that evidently went rogue when it short circuited my REM sleep last night. Given all that’s happened, it’s not hard to believe.
So, I wrote that a week or so ago, mostly out of boredom and also because that dream was WILD. I’d apologize for not posting anything in an embarrassingly long time, but now that we live in a Hunger Games-style stunted reality where everyone only exists on Instagram, I think we can skip that. I think we can also skip the recap of why life is an absolute goat fuck right now. Coronavirus. Jesus, universe, you really came in on everyone’s golden year, the year we all needed to be gravy (clearly too much to ask) and lit it on fire. Literally. NYE 2020 Australia was on fire. Even with that horrific start, we all were willing to chock that up to #republicans and global warming if you threw us a bone with an early spring or perhaps a new president.
But no, you did not deliver. You decided to send us a menacing disease that preys on the weak, is transmitted by the stupid, and has cancelled life as we know it. To be honest, pandemic-living is weird. My daily recap above isn’t that drastically different from a WFH day pre-2020. Except these days I feel less like a big Lebowski knock-off and more like an inmate waddling from my office to the kitchen every 14 minutes. The good news is social norms have been adjusted in this 2020 mess of a year. Drinking all day is considered normal, think airport/casino rules when it comes to substance consumption. COVID-19 work hours are flexible and the uniform is stretchy, my coworkers on zoom look like a band of hooded hillbillies – about half have screaming children behind them during our calls – totally fine. Endless hours on your phone, Instagram, Facebook are encouraged.
A friend posted a meme last week that likened the current social “mood” to feel like we’re constantly overreacting or under-reacting to the current global pandemic and there’s no in between. It’s like waiting for an ass kicking you know is coming, yet holding onto hope that you can outrun it. As an aside, though this ranty post isn’t about the health care workers, first responders, and other heroes at the front lines of this battle, they are the only thing that matter right now. They are our only hope, and if your ass beating comes, they’ll be there to make sure you don’t bleed out. So, do something, anything, for them. Even if it’s just staying the fuck home. Don’t be that fat Floridian spring breaker doing a keg stand on NBC nightly news, gag.
Anyways, back to my dream. For about a week I thought about it. I knew the virus and the ensuing pandemic obviously wasn’t something we brought upon ourselves. This isn’t the old testament, though might be better if it was – locusts are harmless and considered good eatin’ in some cultures. This wasn’t a WALL-E adaptation to real life punishing us for spending dinners on our phone, wasting paper, and killing the sea turtles. If anything, it could potentially be in response to the dwindling marsupial population due to Australia being set on fire… but all jokes aside, this reset theory isn’t something to ignore, but not because it’s true. It’s important because it made me think.
Let me tell you, when I found out there wasn’t a roll of Charmin east of the Mississippi last week, I started to realize how much TP I use on the reg. It became a topic of conversation among peers. I now am cognizant and a bit stingy with those 4 ply sheets. And the waste, the stuff, the crap we surround ourselves with – it turns out I don’t use it when I’m at home in my robe drinking milk and shining my bowling ball between calls. Truly, it’s not important. I’ve found myself wanting to rid my life of excess and clutter, and have been rotating two flannel shirts and three pairs of Lululemons for a month now.
What about people? Back in the times of old when friends could interact in the flesh, were you always on your phone? Ugh, I hate to say I’m guilty of it too often. Now that there’s a barrier between friends and family, I use my phone and computer to actually speak to them. Many times a day. Facetime calls with the whole fam are a nightly occurrence. Mostly it’s just each of us taking turns saying “I’m bored” and discussing Carole Baskin, and why she isn’t in prison. But, today, more than missing places and things, I miss looking forward to seeing friends and family. Planning events with them. Knowing I’ll hear their insights on this and that, their laughter and quirks. The very act of seeing the people I love was something I took for granted, and I’m not ashamed to say it.
None of this really matters, though. My toilet paper usage won’t make a difference in the fight against coronavirus. The pandemic won’t spread more slowly because I’ve realized I don’t need stuff and to occasionally remove my face from my phone. But, what’s important to me is the wake up call. The dream I had made me think. No, this crisis isn’t anyone’s fault, but what if each person did one thing during this shitshow to be better, do better, if not for anyone than for the turtles and koalas. What if we took this time to take some lessons on living, loving, learning, and listening. Crises like this offer glimpses of perspective, what if we used the vantage point and didn’t ignore it. If anything, full disclosure, I was using wayyyy more TP than I need for forever. Sorry Eywa, I promise to do better.
In other news, Hudson is thrilled I’m a suburban Massachusetts quarantine captive as, I assume, most other dogs are. It’s a fact that silver linings don’t negate the horrors of what’s happening, but they do remind us the sun will eventually burn through the clouds. So, stay home, don’t worry if the only COVID-19 you’ve experienced is on the scale, and don’t feel guilty about that extra glass wine. I’ve found about a bottle is where I thrive, anything after that it gets a little dicey. Stay well, friends.
*note: errors likely abound due to previously mentioned pinot noir consumption. Edits will be made only at the suggestion of Nicolas Sandim. Thank you and have a nice day.
The Dog Hair Diaries 