You’ve likely seen the advice: Act like you already have Covid-19.

I find this funny.

It’s genuinely good advice, don’t get me wrong, but as a mild hypochondriac, that’s already my M.O.

No part of me thinks I actually have C-19, but I expect to get it. When I go outside, I assume people are asymptomatic. Do I truly believe they are? Not usually. There are five confirmed cases in our county as of 4/6/20.

Our current reality is complex. Although it rarely makes me anxious, it always makes me cautious.

Day 1, Monday 3/16: No recollection.

Edit submitted by Steve: I picked up tool chests from a Craigslist ad. The Stout Surplus sale shut down.

To clarify, he practiced social distancing while buying the tool chests. And when the Surplus Sale canceled public sales, he text me saying, ALL IS LOST.

Day 2, Tuesday 3/17: It’s 8:11 AM. I take a screenshot: “BREAKING: Tom Brady will not return to the Patriots.” More importantly, it’s my 28th birthday. My Grandma Bucher calls me to sing Happy Birthday—a certainty amid uncertainty.

It’s a brisk afternoon, but the sun is shining, so I walk to the co-op with a backpack and grab a few groceries. My haul includes flour and frosting to bake myself a cake. It’s the first cake I’ve ever made from scratch.

That night, I video chat with the college girls, Steve and Klare wrap up a late shift on campus, they sing happy birthday to me, and I open gifts, including Shrinky Dinks. I make two: a sun and an ice cream cone.

Before bed, I Shazam an unfamiliar song on the radio: ‘The Benefits of Being Alone’ by Rose Cousins.

Day 3, Wednesday 3/18: Throughout this, I’m working as usual. On March thirteenth, one client paused work—they’re waiting to see how things shake out—but the others remain steady. Before lunch, I finish and send an article titled, Reject Culture Fit and Hire People You Disagree With.

At 7 PM, I watch Survivor.

Photo from 3/18 submitted by Steve:

Day 4, Thursday 3/19: Thursday is full of calls: Mom, Sarah, Grandma. A video chat with Ann. A phone call with the director of the Small Business Development Center about the class I teach. The evening is equally social: another video call with the college gals, and more nostalgic crafts with Steve. Tonight it’s perler beads, the plastic beads you melt with an iron.

Day 5, Friday 3/20: I start the day with a live online yoga class hosted by a local studio. As expected, there are some technical difficulties. Millions of people are learning how to use Zoom and other remote tools for the first time. Nine days earlier, I messaged a fellow self-employed remote worker, saying, It’ll be interesting to see how the landscape changes as folks who were once resistant to remote work are forced into it and inevitably realize it’s doable. I’ve worked from home since 2016, so although I know it’s not by choice, I selfishly appreciate the increase in virtual offerings.

After work, Steve and I walk to the local bookstore. I buy City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert and Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. There are two other people in the store, both are older ladies: the owner and an employee who’s not working. I’m conscious of their conversation and their bodies, along with my own. I realize this is my last time in a public place for the foreseeable future. When I bring my books home, I sanitize the covers with rubbing alcohol.

Later that night, I post that picture of my new books on Instagram and Elizabeth Gilbert likes it. Steve says, Well, what else does she have to do right now?

We end the night watching kittens and puppies on Animal Planet.

Day 6, Saturday 3/21: It’s the weekend. We’re sitting in the living room and Steve says, I hear crime is way down. I know it’s true, but his matter-of-factness makes me laugh. I actually live in a senior citizen home complete with cliché small talk (and a resident cat).

That afternoon, I continue to read City of Girls, which I’ve quickly become obsessed with. I bake a sweet potato quiche. And I participate in a college gals challenge: Geronimo! Domino!—we grab “…books, coasters, cups, balls, or anything else around the house that can be tipped or rolled,” to create a domino chain. That night, we make fish and chips with Klare, play King of Tokyo, and watch one of her favorite movies, a 1988 rom-com, Crossing Delancey.

Day 7, Sunday 3/22: I finish reading City of Girls. I remain obsessed.

Day 8, Monday 3/23: It’s been one week since I started social distancing. Today I try a mental stimulation activity with Zoe and she’s all about it. She quickly masters the act of removing tennis balls from a muffin tin to uncover tasty treats.

Day 9, Tuesday 3/24: I teach my last Entrepreneurial Training Program class via Zoom. We end class one week early. By May 1, my students will each submit a detailed business plan and model detailing their financial projections and objectives. I understand it’s a tough time to start and sustain a business and empathize with the current business owners.

I wrap up the evening with another college gals video call—an essential aspect of our respective quaran[rou]tines.

Day 10, Wednesday 3/25: I start my day with an online networking call. One of my students presents her business idea during a now-virtual event called 1 Million Cups.

After this, I submit my grocery order online. There are no dropdown lists on the form, so I need to manually type what I want, specifying brand and quantity. If I don’t know the name of a local product, I often resort to commenting, brand doesn’t matter, the cheapest option is fine. 

At night, I take an Instagram class. Then Steve and I watch the first three episodes of Tiger King.

Day 11, Thursday 3/26: I pick up my curbside order of groceries from the co-op. This is a new service they created in response to C-19. It hasn’t officially launched, but everything goes smoothly. I bring the groceries home, set them on the counter, and sanitize each item before I put it away. I clean the counter, wash my hands, and question if I sanitized everything well enough.

Earlier in the week I made potato salad with our last two eggs, last three potatoes, and last bit of mayonnaise. We eat leftovers for lunch and Steve reiterates, This is seriously the best potato salad I’ve ever had.

We stay up until 1 AM finishing Tiger King.

Day 12, Friday 3/27: I’m supposed to see one of my favorite musicians tonight, Ben Rector—my first solo concert-going experience—but the show is obviously postponed.

I hear back from a Communications Director position I interviewed for on March 4. As expected, they pause the hiring process. I’m not disappointed. It was a great interview process, but the timing isn’t right for several reasons—some more obvious than others.

It’s Friday night, so naturally, it’s Happy Hour with the college gals. Before I join the call, I make my first at-home craft cocktail: a grapefruit and raspberry egg white sour with lemon vodka. A byproduct of my only liquor and limited ingredients, but it’s good.

Day 13, Saturday 3/28: Saturday starts with yoga taught by Sara Norman. She’s my favorite local instructor. Taylor and Hannah join—an impossible scenario before C-19. (If you want to join a virtual class, here’s the link.)

In the afternoon, I participate in a Weekend Bake-off Competition organized by a friend in Eau Claire. The category is ‘a tart.’ The tart must include at least two of the following: fruit, chocolate, honey, or cinnamon. I make mini sugar cookie tarts frosted with a combination of cream cheese/honey goat cheese/sugar, and top them with berries.

That afternoon, I request my absentee ballot online, video chat with the college gals, and Steve and I watch the first episode of Love is Blind on Netflix. He says, Not gonna lie, this show is so cringey, it’s making me a little nauseous. He sticks it out for the full episode, but launches off the couch the instant it ends, repulsed by the credits.

Day 14, Sunday 3/29: Again, I start my day with yoga, followed by cooking. Steve makes homemade corn tortillas and chips with the masa in our cupboard. I can’t figure out why we have this bag of corn flour and he wishes we had a tortilla press, as he uses a rolling pin to flatten the dough balls. When his arms begin to ache, I make hummus. I find an old jar of tahini that has separated into oil and solids. In my struggle to get it out of the can, I cut myself slightly and recover without fainting. Steve bandages me up, a la Chopped kitchen.

At night, I make this pen and ink drawing.

Several Nights: Someone within hearing distance sets off 1-2 fireworks at night. All I can think about is The Hunger Games, and how a cannon shot represents a dead tribute.

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My day-to-day is largely unchanged, but I still struggle. Somedays I flounder. I feel unmotivated and unenergized. It reminds me of seasonal depression. Sadly, I think more people will empathize with mental illness after C-19.

To accomplish menial tasks, like cleaning the kitchen, sometimes I break my to-do list into the simplest actions. I set a timer and check off items as I complete them. This works for me.

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Overall, this is a privileged existence. I know that.

I don’t normally shop for the majority of my groceries at the co-op, usually it’s just specialty items, but I am right now for several reasons.

• The co-op offers a curbside, no-contact pickup option.
• The store has less traffic than supermarkets, and presumably, less germs.
• Our purchase sustains local farmers—like Crystal Ball Farms Dairy, a farm we toured in February.
• Our purchase directly supports a local business that pays people in our community.
• We can afford to pay more for groceries right now. I can buy $10 toilet paper and leave the $4 toilet paper for someone else.

I’m grateful I have space to roam outside. I have income. Steve has a steady paycheck. I have a cat who doubles as an emotional support animal. I have WiFi to sustain my business. I have reception that supports clear phone calls.

I don’t think it’s helpful to root ourselves only in gratitude though; the world is chaotic, and there are surely things I am not grateful for. But there is a balance—a balance between mourning what was, accepting what is, and creating what can be.

I’m finding what that looks like.

We all are.

Cheers, friends.