Coronavirus Quarantine Diary
A dispatch from deep within the belly of social isolation
Like millions of people around the globe, I am quarantined in order to try to avoid spreading the deadly novel coronavirus. In the interest of posterity, I have decided to keep a diary of my experience. Perhaps future generations will be able to read this and gain some insight into what it was like to live through this experience.
Day 1
I spent the whole day eating Cheetos, listening to the Mountain Goats, and playing Dr. Mario. I’m already so fucking bored. I guess I could watch some porn.
Day 2
My roommate has informed me that I either need to stop watching so much porn or, at least, need to watch it at a lower volume as she can hear it very loudly in her room and it is making her uncomfortable to “have to think about how much Futurama-themed porn exists.” Also, she says, “Why do you watch the whole thing from beginning to end? Nobody does that.” This quarantine is already stripping us of our humanity.
Day 3
Ran out of Futurama-themed porn to watch anyway. I feel that it is in my best interest to use this time for self improvement so that I can be a better citizen once this pandemic passes. I have settled on becoming fluent in Spanish so that I may one day read Don Quixote in its original language.
Day 4
Gave up on learning Spanish. Back to porn.
Day 5
I am writing an opera. It will be a grand work of art. I expect this to be an intense undertaking and may not update this diary for a while.
Day 7
I feel compelled to clarify that “writing an opera” is NOT a euphemism for “watching porn”.
Day 10
I have had to pause work on my opera in order to rest. I have been working non-stop and I think it is wearing me out. I have a fever and body aches. I can’t stop coughing. Somehow the intensity of my work — of the pure light of inspiration that is flowing through me — has taken its toll on my body. I will resume work tomorrow.
Day 11
I’ve started having mystic visions. Last night, Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, and Barack Obama appeared in my room. They surrounded my bed and lectured me on the importance of self reliance and the evils of socialized medicine. I honestly had a hard time following their reasoning as my fever has made me quite loopy. But I am determined to incorporate this experience into my opera.
Day 14
Fever has yet to break but I have resumed work on the opera. My roommate keeps telling me to go to the doctor. I have decided to obliterate her with the power of my mind.
Day 15
I have obliterated my roommate. My mind is operating at such a high level that I am simultaneously freezing cold and burning up so much that I sweat through my clothes.
Day 16
Oh great, now my roommate’s ghost is haunting the apartment. She keeps saying things like, “You clearly have COVID-19,” and, “I am not a ghost,” and, “Go to the hospital,” and, “Seriously, I am not a ghost. You have to stop leaving the door open when you go to the bathroom.” I have to block out these phantasmagorical distractions in order to finish my opera. Accordingly, I have barricaded myself in my room and drawn a line with salt in front of the door.
Day 18
As I write and practice the aria that I have written, I can hear the ghost of my roommate yelling at me. She shouts, “For the love of all that is holy, you have to stop singing the Oscar Meyer weiner song. It’s three in the fucking morning.” I will not let this distract me.
Day 19
i dont know how to explain this but as i write this i am simultaneously in my bed & it is the middle of the night and i am awake sitting at my desk writing in the evening and i am standing at the window looking into the yard at dawn & there is a rip in the yard i dont really know how else to say this but there is a rip in the space of the yard & there is a voice speaking to me from inside the rip & it keeps saying that i havent died i have always been dead & its ok & its time to come home am i back in bed did i go to the yard i dont know how can i know
Day 20
Note to self: jingle bell rap.
Day 22
I woke up in the hospital. My fever has finally subsided. My roommate came to visit and explained that she had brought me here when she found my lifeless body on the floor of my room. I thanked her profusely and asked her if she could bring me opera. She returned later with a sheaf of papers. The writing is barely coherent (the only words that I can clearly read are “i am not a witch, i have ergotism”) and the musical notation does not follow any system that I can recognize. What is a “J dorian mode”?
Day 24
I am being sent home from the hospital today. I am still upset about how incoherent my opera is. I wonder if I can salvage some of it.
Day 25
Once again, I am “working on my opera.” … It is a euphemism.
Day 26
Jingle bell rap.
