Heartfulness eMagazine|May 2020
It is Sunday night. Jobless and quarantined, I am sitting at my rickety kitchen table. A flea market find, painted haphazardly with a thin coat of faded white, as if the paint itself was sepia-toned. It was chipped when I bought it, that was part of the charm, and it’s become more charming over the years with use and a scandalous absence of coasters. I’ve got two pots of vegetables on the stove. I should have gallons of stock by the end, if I don’t let the gentle lullaby of the simmer send me to sleep first. Phoebe, my little dog who’s recently been living her best life since Mom is home all the time, sniffs the air optimistically. It is my Day 7.
I began wearing makeup again on Day 4 because of how tired I looked in the mirror; it reminded me too much of the economy. I curled my hair on Day 5, but couldn’t justify using hairspray. Down the road I’ll take a look at why I need makeup and a hair wand to achieve my “normal,” but for now, in this new landscape, I’m taking it one step at a time. Sure, an acoustic Joshua Radin playing in the background perhaps feels especially obvious, as does my glass of brandy. Sue the new virus. I’m adjusting.
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