This is a great time to be a hypochondriac. There is a lot
of understanding. Nobody looks at you weird when you wash your hands singing
the chorus from Africa by Toto. Nobody thinks you are extreme when you go on a
full expedition just to make sure you are not drinking from someone else’s
glass. Nobody comments on your insanely dry hands. Taking off your phone case
and disinfecting your phone? You, socially appropriate bastard. Of course,
there is the constant fear that you have or will get coronavirus and pass it on
like the Olympic flame. That one is a
bummer.
Life during this pandemic has been very creative. I have
developed a nice little regime to get through. For example, as a
hypochondriac I am of course doing a number of remedies; my gargles, my warm
teas, shooting hot water up my nose and constant complaining to anyone with a
phone or my housemate. I have also had to schedule my use of items that I do
not want near my bed. That will be (1) my phone, currently placed onto my
eyeshadow palette that is no longer of any use, (2) my laptop which contains
all of the stuff I should stop reading to control my paranoia and (3) my socks.
Now, this is where I have gotten very creative. The dilemma here is that I do
not want to go barefoot to wash my hands before going to bed, but do not want
my socks in bed because they have done the bed-bathroom route. Also, I do not
want to touch said socks with my now clean hands. So, I have mastered the art
of taking socks off with my own feet. And I mean all socks; long, short,
elastic. This is not so hard, I hear you say. How about putting on socks with
your feet because you want to get a glass of water but do not want to wash your
hands? Well, you are looking at the master of that too. This pandemic goes on
for much longer, I’ll be playing piano with my feet.
This has also been a great time for refreshing my maths. For
example, I check my temperature based on the Fibonacci sequence. First, I
waited for two hours, then three, then five and then a full eight-hour wait
between my normal temperature readings. Take that, Tool. Secondly, I have had a
chance to calculate how much faster than the duration of a second I count in my
head, and successfully adjusted my counting for washing my hands (and holding
my breath to check my lungs are working). I am counting .05% faster. Not bad.
Surely, there are numerous graphs explaining exponential growth and the
‘flattening the curve’ argument, but I thought this was the best use of maths
for me.
Lastly, as a hypochondriac I have gotten a great amount of
physical rest. Considering I have more or less abandoned society. My tiny apartment
has few places for me to travel and a very, very comfortable couch. My physical
labour is however long a shower takes. I have been in a semi-sitted position
for so long my back hurts. And sometimes my upper back hurts and I think the virus
has come for my lungs. But then I just shuffle around a bit and all is well. Mentally,
I am exhausted. Mentally, I am living through five different dystopian
scenarios. Some of them not so bad; I have given myself superpowers for those. Superpower
for scenario one: shape shifting. Superpower: for scenario two: calm and rationality.
Will I need therapy after this? Most likely. This post is
thankfully an exaggeration of my time through the pandemic. I could not possibly
spend my whole day worried; I have series to watch. But as I guess we are all a
little bit more paranoid that we were a month ago, I just found it therapeutic
to poke some fun at my hideous, dry skin and my unnecessary precautions. Why I
felt the need for anyone else to read this is a mystery. Hopefully, this is a
less stressful read about the pandemic than any of the emails we have all
gotten today. I mean, since when is Krispy Kreme out to scare me?
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