Hard droplets pelted the roof through the roof and she inhaled the sweet petrichor that she loved. It smelled wet, earthy, and she absolutely loved this scent. This was partly because growing up in a desert, rain was a rarity, special, memorable. Who didn’t like cuddling under blankets with a floofy beast, a cup of tea or coffee, and a good book?
There was no rainy traffic to contend with, no shivering toes in her boots. Just silence and the pitter-patter-pat-pitter of the droplets falling on the roof.
How could she ever go back to the grind? The endless and monotonous rush of getting dressed, sitting in her car for an hour, being late, and being tired. That monotony seemed far worse to her now than the days of home incarceration, thanks to the virus. She was on her own damn schedule now. She could eat breakfast slowly and when she wanted- even if that was at the one o’clock hour. Maybe she wanted dinner at eight. And the best part, the absolute crème de la crème of this entire new home schedule, was that she could pee whenever the hell she wanted to. She didn’t have to call the office to get coverage, she didn’t have to bother her best friend next door to “keep an eye out for something on fire,” while she ran, bent over and thighs crossing, to the restroom. It took her awhile to get used to this, as she found herself holding it in for no reason at all, for the first week.
Now she was comfortable. Sheltering in place was a task she could absolutely do. Over six THOUSAND people had perished in the last 24 hours; the curve in her country still not at its apex. She felt internally bifurcated- on one hand she was absolutely terrified herself or her close friends and family getting this virus, and on the other hand she loved this new life. The quiet. The control. The absence of highly annoying humans.
She listened to the rain and closed her eyes.
There was no rainy traffic to contend with, no shivering toes in her boots. Just silence and the pitter-patter-pat-pitter of the droplets falling on the roof.
How could she ever go back to the grind? The endless and monotonous rush of getting dressed, sitting in her car for an hour, being late, and being tired. That monotony seemed far worse to her now than the days of home incarceration, thanks to the virus. She was on her own damn schedule now. She could eat breakfast slowly and when she wanted- even if that was at the one o’clock hour. Maybe she wanted dinner at eight. And the best part, the absolute crème de la crème of this entire new home schedule, was that she could pee whenever the hell she wanted to. She didn’t have to call the office to get coverage, she didn’t have to bother her best friend next door to “keep an eye out for something on fire,” while she ran, bent over and thighs crossing, to the restroom. It took her awhile to get used to this, as she found herself holding it in for no reason at all, for the first week.
Now she was comfortable. Sheltering in place was a task she could absolutely do. Over six THOUSAND people had perished in the last 24 hours; the curve in her country still not at its apex. She felt internally bifurcated- on one hand she was absolutely terrified herself or her close friends and family getting this virus, and on the other hand she loved this new life. The quiet. The control. The absence of highly annoying humans.
She listened to the rain and closed her eyes.
Comments
Post a Comment