I crave solitude, so telling me to self-isolate is like telling fish to stay in the water. I’ve been practicing social distancing before it was a thing, unwittingly training for this moment my whole life.

Even though I am reclusive, I have empathy for those who crave social interaction; after all, the world we once knew has changed.

One thing that hasn’t changed is our resiliency. We have the ability to shore one another up; to rearrange our priorities and put things into perspective; to not take ourselves so seriously; to not be so opinionated and unbending; to rediscover joy in the small things.

Like many others, I am searching for intangible distractions to keep my mind off this constantly evolving new normal. Mercifully, my contribution to creating uplifting diversions will not be in the form of visual or musical entertainment. I’m not coordinated enough to tap dance in Lederhosen. And I promise not to shatter eardrums with my booming range of off-key vocals that would only serve to call hogs to the trough—or guide an ocean liner through thick fog.

Each day, I go through the mechanical task of writing, revising, answering emails, returning calls, and completing mundane household chores. I work with rescue dogs for physical and mental stimulation (theirs and mine!) And while heavily armed with short bursts of inspiration, I’ve started many projects around the house and finished exactly nothing. I then creep around social media and efficiently hit “like” on every platform with delirious satisfaction.

When the day is done and my butt hits that perfectly worn spot on the couch, I turn to the glowing screen of the television for diversion.

I’ve binged on romcoms and sitcoms until my eyeballs dried up, fell out of my head and rolled down the hallway. I took advantage of a free subscription to Disney + and relived my childhood—and everyone else’s.

After immersing myself in a wide range of documentaries, I believe I should receive some sort of honorary historical degree; though I suggest that when lying in bed sick during a global pandemic, you refrain from watching anything remotely associated to your symptoms, say, anything with the title Pandemic—or anything on the news.

While fully engulfed with fever, chills and body aches, I watched a documentary on the early years of FDR and convinced myself that I have polio. The consultation with a telemed doctor confirmed COVID, but quickly dismissed my imaginary afflictions. “Turn off the television!” he said with authority.

For a full month, I obediently followed all medical advice; though against doctor’s orders, the television stayed on.

I viewed countless YouTube tutorials, adeptly learning to French braid my hair, sharpen my chainsaw, and build a bear-proof garden enclosure. I learned how to make good old-fashioned butter to clog my good old-fashioned arteries. I’ve also learned to repurpose and reuse. I made a quilt out of threadbare concert tee-shirts and spun dog hair into yarn. I now speak three languages and play the lute.

Inspired by reality shows on self-sufficiency, I vow to use bee hives for honey, raise chickens for eggs, and perhaps even a goat for milk. I will plant a vegetable garden and fruit trees and collect rainwater for irrigation. I shall sew my own clothes, cut my own hair, and quit shaving my legs!

For the calming effect, I fell asleep each night to the even tone of Bob Ross’s voice as he continues to instruct and encourage, even in the afterlife. After all, Bob taught more than painting. His mannerisms were reliable and his sagacious advice was interwoven with positive affirmations that are applicable in any situation. It is good to hear a familiar voice in uncertain times.

Television overload combined with a Nyquil/pizza/hot chocolate induced nightmare finally snapped me back to reality. I dreamt that this is how my lifeless body will be found: braided hair on top, hairy legs on the bottom, covered in a quilt crafted of heavy metal memorabilia, a 2” paintbrush in my hand, muttering, “In our world…”

That vision left me more fearful than a pandemic, so I masked up and headed to Costco for butter, eggs, and milk. And a 36-pack of disposable razors.