Good morning, I have officially emerged from my 10-day COVID isolation that overlapped really beautifully with one of the heaviest periods I’ve ever had.
I started each morning gathering and assembling all my needs for the day so I could sit on my couch comfortably for about 8 hours. And this activity got me out of bed in the morning with a surprising amount of purpose. I’d wake up slightly disoriented from Mucinex PM-ing, my cleared out chest feeling like a wind tunnel, air flowing through one nostril at a time if I was lucky, and assemble all my liquids for the day, all my tech devices, and then I’d set myself up on my couch with a blanket and my thoughts.
To fill the void of the pet I so long for, I researched devon rex cat adoption and found companionship in my very large water bottle.
I also do have to show you the most important fruit of my adoption research labor:
JIMMY. Eyes like jewels.
And for a snapshot of what else was rolling around in my brain:
My decision to rewatch RHONY just a few days before I got sick was the universe catching me. She knew I’d need some comforting company. And as much as I don’t want to give credit where credit is due, I feel responsible to share the true invisible string between me and RHONY at this particular moment in time:
I bought a very heavy bag of candy from Bon Bon just days before my congestion set in, so I also had the most colorful and tantalizing stash of candy at my fingertips without the clear sense of taste and smell required to truly enjoy it. I dreamt of sitting with my phone and eating licorice with Bethenny in unison as she narrated the experience.
And there’s something about congestion that makes me feel both acutely aware of how my body is feeling, but also totally detached from its physicality—a hearing underwater sort of feeling. Everything is muffled. My stomach still feels like shit, but from distance.
Well, let me tell you, having a period will really snap you back to your body. Especially when you’ve also run out of underwear. The day I tested positive and began isolation was also the day I had been planning to go do laundry. I felt my period coming and I was out of clean underwear. In a moment of desperation, I, an extremely texture-sensitive person, resorted to something I normally would never do. I ordered underwear online. On Amazon. And the issue with buying underwear of all things online is that underwear really shouldn’t feel like much on the body. The waistband and the thigh holes absolutely cannot squeeze me at any point and those seams cannot be itchy or stiff. I really have to stress the importance of that. Additionally—and likely most crucial of all—is the softness of the fabric. This garment is touching the most internal-adjacent parts of the body that clothing will ever touch. If something is rough, scratchy or simply “off” at this foundational level, there is no hope to feel comfortable once more clothing is added to the mix. And to complicate things a bit further, I’m a pads girl. I used my first pad in 2002, tried a tampon in 2003 that then got stuck inside me (I’ll spare you the specific anatomical details, here’s a plug to read my memoir CHEEKY in which I do detail this if it’s of any interest!), and ran straight back to that diaper feeling, pads forever. All to say, not only did I need this new underwear to be comfortable, I needed them to be up for the job of housing my Always overnight pads. High rise, full coverage, no squeezing.
And so, I opted for Fruit of the Loom briefs and sized up.
FYI I got them in black but used cream for illustration clarity purposes. Good period underwear is always black. I did right by my self with these.
The day this package arrived I got a terrifying knock at my door later that night. My mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that my mystery visitor was planning to kidnap me so I screamed “WHO IS THIS” twice, shaking on the couch. It was my very sweet neighbor and I felt like an idiot. She wanted to know if I’d seen her package from L.L.Bean. I hadn’t. But then she asked me “are you sure?” as she (maybe in my sick brain imagination) looked past me into my living room, trying to catch me in a lie. I said no again and told her (behind my mask) that I’m sick and not really engaging with the world right now thinking that would gain me some sympathy. But once she left I wondered if that made me all the more suspicious. I started second guessing myself and searched around my apartment for her package. I’m scared of her now. I hope she got her package and can remove me from her list of enemies.
As an answer to my active material assembling mornings (and delusional neighbor warfare), I had a wind down ritual:
One night I left chicken soup to cook on the stove as I bathed and it was maybe one of the best nights of my life? I really recommend using liberal amounts of bath salts (2+ cups) while knowing you are also cooking yourself a nourishing soup. It’s a ritual I will return to in sickness and in health.
And what I’ll leave you with is a genius wellness spa idea that I am proclaiming ownership over here and now. No one can steal this idea without my consult. That’s the contract you enter when reading this humble publication.
And with that, I think this week I will attempt to make my mom’s kugel. My favorite food on heaven and earth. I tried to scratch the itch with pasta and cottage cheese and it really didn’t cut it. Maybe if I add a few drops of vanilla extract?
Laughing and crying at the same time. Glad you survived and thrived creatively. Btw I make a mean chicken soup. If you are ever in the boston area, I feel like it’s a life’s purpose and I generally try and force feed sick friends with my soup. It’s my gift to others.
I could really go for a chicken soup steam right now!