Studio Update 16

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Hello, from the land of tent hospitals and seclusion. Here we are, dear friends. I worked, and then my employer scheduled a Zoom social, so I joined for a bit. It was nice. We mostly discussed our favorite karaoke songs, and we got introduced to each other’s plants, children and pets. I liked it. I will join again.

It was a productive week on lockdown. You have no choice but to be productive when it’s dead quiet. Today, I heard more than one neighbor yelling at their cell mates. People are on edge.

I took down the trash and checked the mail— I needed to prove to my mail person that I am not dead. I got a sweater I ordered from The Shop Forward, where every penny goes to a cause (right now it’s masks for COVID-19). It says “Choose Joy,” and it has all these bright pretty colors. That is my motto, now. It made me happy to get it in the mail and to think that the money is being used to help people.

It’s time for the weekend. What does that mean, these days? We don’t know. I am planning on resting. Maybe going for a supplemental grocery run (for fruits and veggies because you can’t stockpile those— they are perishable).

I get twenty texts a day about how I need to cover my face, if I step out. Thank you, City of New York. The next time I go out for groceries, I will look like Penelope Cruz and Salma Hayek in Bandidas.

My phone just scared the living daylights out of me— one of those siren alerts flashed onto the screen asking all health workers to report because they are needed in my surrounding area. That thing was like an amber alert. Sigh. I wish I could help in a way that is needed like that. Instead, I am here, about to make some mac and cheese. I eat dinner now. So weird. I find myself a little hungry in the evenings.

Off I go. I can hear all the siren alerts going off in my neighbors’ apartments. Their echo blares in the empty halls.

Published by Gabriela Yareliz

Gabriela is a writer, editor and attorney. She loves the art of storytelling, and she is based in NYC.

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