A Couch Perspective of COVID-19
With new eyes this space has changed
Challenge: write an expose about where you spend 95% of your time giving five new observations of this space and answering a given “what” question from a fellow writer.
I am Rose and I am trying again. Trying to be right, to understand, to see this permanent view clearly. With new eyes this space has changed. The three strands of Christmas lights hanging above are off-center and to the right. They each flicker according to a different timer — unintentionally. On the wall between the dog’s door to the patio and the full-size door there is a shadowed gap where fake brick wallpaper has loosened it’s grip and repelled from the surface. The painting just above, the one showing two world’s end lovers in grips as the horizon explodes, is now odd with the observation of one loose hair painted like a captain’s hook hand and atomic clouds in line as Terracotta soldiers. On the mirrored wall hangs a short string of pineapple lights. They illuminate the whiteness with shadows like the surfacing scales of Koi fish in a crowded pond. I hear a repetitive woosh as the air conditioning chills the high-ceiling room.
The space, this space, has been my constant surrounding for twenty-one days. I’ve moved up or down from this level which beholds the couch and the balcony to my house, but gravity has…
