Living in "The Twilight Zone"

 I like to call my Covid19  life “The Twilight Zone.”  Yes siree, I wake up every day in the worst of Rod Serling.  When I was growing up the show scared the shit out of me and now my new personal version does also.  In childhood I would quickly turn off the TV when it got too scary but now there’s no off option. It’s the same freaky episode every day.  For starters should I or shouldn’t I get up?  Whereas I used to jump out of bed ready to start the day now I slither down the side in ambivalence because honestly what’s the rush?  I drag myself to the kitchen for my daily handful of vitamins and have no idea if they are poisoning or helping me.  The dog is growing antsy to go out so I throw a coat over my pajamas, put on a mask and gloves and we hit the street.  No, I do not consider changing clothes first. 

My morning coffee is followed up by hot water and lemon because I heard it repels the virus.  I now believe everything I hear.  I do a little work-out to hopefully fit in my jeans the day I put them on again.  I practice some barely recognizable yoga so I can withstand the social pressure of being able to say I do yoga.  I stay in my life affirming pjs until around noon and then I realize it’s noon and I am still in my pajamas.  Every day it’s the same surprise.

My Twilight Zone life gets really scary in the afternoon when with much trepidation I go for walk with the dog.  I am afraid of humans.  Yes, all of you!  I find myself walking in the zig zag pattern they suggest when a mass shooter is on the loose.  I am on the sidewalk one minute then frantically jump off when I spy a human heading my way.   I duck behind trees, jump into bushes and ironically dash into the middle of the street in order to maintain a “safe” distance.  Like a skilled circus performer I tight rope walked on the curb one afternoon to avoid a child on a tricycle heading my way.  However I nearly ruptured my Achilles when I lost my balance at the last minute and fell.  Enemy combatants are everywhere.  I need counseling and Xanax.

 I long to live on a deserted island with internet access and a wide screen TV.  And now more importantly my hair colorist.

Comfort Food in Corona Time

He’s baaaaak!  Not Michael Jordan but Chef Boyardee.  He’s in demand and flying off the shelves of grocery stores all over the country.  Get the Beefaroni while you can as it’s going, going, going, gone!  The brands that were left in the dust for years are on the front lines now.  Hello Aunt Jemima, oh how I loved the pancakes of my childhood and the Log Cabin Syrup poured over them until they floated on the plate.  Now all I want is to eat dozens of those comforting little pancakes. Bring ‘em on!  Doesn’t Swanson plate a meal as well as any Michelin star chef?  Those neatly sectioned off compartments filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and fruit compote are yummy and no dish washing required.  Fried chicken was my favorite but turkey had the brownie or it could have been Salisbury steak.  At any rate the brownie was amazing and made my skin break out but I didn’t care. 

Bring on the unhealthy food.  I want those old labels and nasty ingredients to keep me feeling safe.  Hey, they might also be virus killers.  It doesn’t matter now does it?  A big old Betty Crocker chocolate cake to make me fat all over again like when I was growing up.  Who cares if it took years to shed the pounds and torturous work-outs? To hell with size four Betty, I want cake!  Sprinkle it with Pepperidge Farm Goldfish or Cheetos; on second thought put the Goldfish and Cheetos on the side but don’t forget them in this time of Corona eating.

I now think the Pillsbury Doughboy is a hottie.  And he makes it so easy for me to be a pastry chef.  No Great British Bake Off nonsense just twist the cardboard package and voila 12 minutes later: cookies, croissants, or rolls….I win!  So many of my childhood meal memories are here to make me feel warm, safe, ten pounds overweight and  twelve again.  Pancakes are my new best friends.