By: Gabriela Yareliz
I thought I would write a quick update from my studio. I heard somewhere that even if you don’t find importance in what is happening or if you feel it’s mundane, you should still share what is happening in your world.
New York City feels a bit post-apocalyptic, once again. The first time I felt this was during hurricane Sandy. The last time I rode a train was on Monday.
Self-quarantine and sheltering in place— whatever you want to call it— is tough when you live alone. I spend more hours working from home than I do on a regular day when I ride the gross trains.
People are talking about how they will end up divorced after this, and I am here like the chin-chin man from IG in front of the mirror. (“Thank you for coming. Chin-chin.”)
I have been sleeping up until the buzzer, and then getting up, reading scripture, supplementing and starting the work day after brushing my hair. I will do my first calls and tasks while simultaneously putting on deodorant and moisturizer. I need to get better at this new routine, admittedly. I still listen to a bit of the Bobby Bones Show, which always puts a smile on my face.
I will work for 8-9 hours.
Today, I tuned into the Instagram live with Italian rapper Fedez and Andrea Bocelli. I cried as they projected it from the balconies. My crying was interrupted by a weird knock. I was convinced this was one of the many inmates they are releasing in NYC because no one wants to deal with the implications of this virus. After a half hour, I opened my door (chain still in place, of course. What am I? An idiot? No.), and I saw a package, but it was for the wrong apartment.
I picked up the package and left it at the correct apartment while ringing the doorbell and running away. I then came back down stairs and got my own actual mail. The census sent me a second threatening letter asking for my mandatory participation. I just sent the government my tax check. They have no chill.
I then went back upstairs and washed my hands, sanitized my hands and then did yoga after I convinced myself my hands were clean enough.
After this and work, my boyfriend suggested we go get food. I said no because these food establishments are gross on a regular day (like someone bribed the food code people level) and he has elderly parents. I am not in the mood to be responsible for someone’s death. I could be one of those asymptomatic, cute carriers with no idea that she is a virus transporter. Not today, Satan.
This is me, right now. Just like the government, I have no chill. In the rainy mornings, I crack my window open and let in the fresh air. I haven’t gone on a walk yet because I just imagine myself encountering some newly released inmate who wants my Taco Bell (because of course, in my head, a walk includes Taco Bell) and me dying on some random side street. I am strong and independent.
Here we are. First day of spring. My favorite season. It’s my third day working from home. Reporting live from NYC. I am lying sideways in bed with my head and hair hanging off. Peace. Stay home, friends. I am off to dream of nachos and long hugs. Andrea Bocelli will be singing in the background.