Okay people, c’mon.  It’s not that bad.  

For those of us who have our health, let’s look on the bright side.  There is much to be grateful for.  So much in fact that I’ve had to start a gratitude journal to capture the abundance of joy in my life.  And because of my gratitude journal, I’ve learned that writing “This has to end,” over and over while death-gripping a pen until my fingers won't unclench isn’t any worse than the absolute worst day of my pre-quarantine life. So c’mon people, follow my lead and let’s get happy!

As a glass half-full person, I’d like to share some recent optimistic observations.  And when I say glass half-full, I mean more than half-full.  I mean fullfullfull, as in full of vodka, which I drink every day, from five to six o’clock, alone, locked in my closet, stress-writing in my gratitude journal, and weeping deeply into the sweatshirt I’ve been wearing for 25 days straight.

But moving on.  Because there are so many categories of experiences to be thankful for!

Family!

Yes, we are stuck with our families 24/7.  Wait, did I say stuck?  I meant blessed.  Blessed to once again smell that pungent boy aroma that permeated my sons’ bedrooms for years. I had almost forgotten it, but there it is, like it never left, that funky intoxicating blend of swamp, foot odor, the L train on a summer’s day, and just a hint of sopresseta.  

During the day, I rarely see my sons -- something I cite often in my gratitude journal -- because they are fiercely devoted to their online studies.  [Note to self: Check on that obviously fraudulent Pornhub bill.]  

My husband, on the other hand, is omnipresent; taking business calls often and loudly in whatever room I happen to be in.  Even when I leave one room and go to another, I can count on that man to follow me everywhere. I mean, like everywhere.  Such fodder for my gratitude journal!  

Something else I can count on? Every day before Governor Cuomo’s press conference, my husband comes into the kitchen to watch with me, so that we can learn the latest and so I can imagine what Sandra Lee is thinking right about now.  And yet, like clockwork, just as the Governor starts to speak, my husband starts to talk OVER the Governor, with HIS opinions, as if I was waiting for HIS news conference and not the Governor’s!  I mean, really?  Now you talk? Do we not have LITERALLY EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY AND NIGHT FOR YOUR OPINIONS? CAN WE MAYBE PUT A PIN IN IT, HONEY? IF YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED, I’M PRETTY MUCH FREE ALL DAY!!!!  Except, of course, from five to six o’clock.

Self Care!

So if you’re like me, you’re always reading about this exfoliating cream or that facial mask and thinking, “Who has the time to do all that?”  Well, honey, now, the answer is you. This is a great opportunity for self-care, and as such, I have incorporated high-intensity exfoliating into my nightly routine as both a facial remedy and upper arm workout. 

As instructed, I apply the exfoliant in small semi-circles, sloughing off dead skin and rubbing hard enough to expose that bright, youthful glow I’m hoping is under there somewhere.  And while it’s possible that conducting this regimen so forcefully might be a tad dangerous -- I have literally exposed the bones beneath my cheek -- I feel that skin the color of beef Carpaccio is a trend I am proud to trail blaze.  Moreover, when your skin is that inflamed, no one sees your roots.

Learning!

As a self-described lifelong learner, I couldn’t be more excited to participate in my children’s educations.  When I heard my younger son talk about Mendel’s box, I couldn’t wait to dive back into the world of genetics. If memory serves, I think I used to be great in genetics and was a huge fan of L. Ron Hubbard’s book on the subject. But just to be sure, I watched a five minute-long Khan Academy video.  And while I didn’t understand one single thing and almost cried, the good news was that because I started the video at 4:55, time flowed like a liter jug of Tito’s right into my five o’clock vodka-closet timeslot, when I had planned on crying anyway.  Such serendipity!

My older son, an Art History major, is missing out on a lot of family time by sleeping 21 hours a day, so I decided to jumpstart a scintillating art conversation by excitedly entering his room and asking:

“Son, have you seen any of George Bush’s portraiture…?

To which he replied:

“MOM I’M SLEEPING! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!!!  GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. PLEASE JUST GET OUT AND GO AWAYGOAWAYGOAWAY!!!!!

And so, just like that, home schooling is over for me.  But I am not deterred.  If I need to learn anything new about the role of art in the human experience or genetics, well, isn’t that what Bravo is for?

Housekeeping!

Like many of you, I have ceded the cleaning of my home and clothes and dog for years, 19 years to be exact, to another trusted and much beloved member of my family.  And though it grieves me deeply to know that we have cast her out like the latex gloves I wore to push yesterday’s shopping cart, it had to be done because although she was LIKE a family member, she wasn’t and needs to stay away from us for a very long time.  

What that means is that the cleaning and cooking and laundry and dog care is equally divided between all the members of my household.  We take turns with each housekeeping chore…and OMG, isn’t that a funny joke?  I am making myself laugh and laugh.  Shared tasks?  Turns?  AS IF!  

But still, I remain optimistic that we’ll all be okay. Even better than okay.  We will get through this and emerge as better people. More understanding people.  And very fat people.  We will be more capable, more exfoliated, more grateful, and have a wildly high capacity for hard liquor.  Maybe we’ll have a new appreciation for the people we love, even if we can’t wait to love them from afar…like, for the Tiger King fans out there, the way Carole loves Bill.  But until then, I still think it’s all going pretty well. In fact, super well!  Glass half full!  Glass fullfullfull!

And now that I’ve shared and hopefully lifted your spirits, this has to end. This has to end…