Member-only story
Wake, Work, Rinse & Repeat
The cycle continues — until it doesn’t.
Most days, I wake up to snuffling pugs — one giving me tenderoni kisses and the other running half circles from my side of the bed, to my wife’s side, and then back again.
Most days, the cat is already awake by the time the humans are stirring. He sits on the landing at the top of the stairs and yowls gently to let us know he’s ready for breakfast.
Most days, the sky is blue, the coffee is delicious, and my workload is manageable.
For the past two years, this has been the routine—the new “normal.” I sit at my desk, I putter around the house, I make food, take the dogs potty, stretch, attend zoom meetings, and FaceTime my niece.
For 657 days, I’ve been patiently waiting, working, and watching Netflix.
I’ve been waiting for the all-clear. I‘ve been waiting for people to get their shit together. I’ve been masking, social distancing, canceling plans, and feeling an overwhelming mix of dread and guilt any time I have attended an event or participated in a dinner or gone to a family holiday.
For 657 days, I’ve relished the chance to be home, to spend so much time with my animals, my wife, and my writing (although, to be honest, that last part hasn’t been going so well.)
