Lisa Quarantine here.
Reporting for duty, from my house.
Yes, I know where I am, because I'm where we all are, if we can be.
Near the refrigerator.
Though I know where I am, I couldn't tell you what day it is. In other words, I'm oriented in time in space, but not time.
Remember the term “space cadets?”
Well, I'm a time space cadet.
They call working from home WFH.
But to me it’s WTF.
Let me explain.
This week I had an important Zoom meeting for Thrillerfest, which is a national book conference. But I had to take the dog to the vet unexpectedly, and the meeting flew out of my mind. It wasn’t until I got home that I saw my emails, with the following subject line:
JEFF AND CHRIS ARE WAITING FOR YOU IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM.
LISA, ARE YOU COMING?
Now, friends, you know me.
I may be wacky, but I'm reliable, and I pride myself on never being late. I would never completely blow off an appointment. I would never stand people up. I couldn't take the guilt. I felt terrible for JEFF and CHRIS.
Even now, I'm so sorry, JEFF and CHRIS.
I apologized profusely, and then we rescheduled the meeting to a few days later, at noon. Determined to redeem myself, I logged on at 11:45 a.m., which was when Jeff sent me another email:
YOU ARE THREE HOURS EARLY. THE MEETING IS AT THREE O’CLOCK.
It turns out that the meeting was scheduled for Pacific Time, a fact which they had emailed me, but had also flown out of my mind.
So I had to wait for the conference for the next three hours, walking around my house in my Zoom Costume, which is mascara and my good bra.
The dogs didn't recognize me.
Or my breasts.
Which were near my ears.
Plus I only had in one contact lens, since I didn’t want to use up two whole contacts for a half-an-hour’s meeting. Also, wearing one contact is my secret cheat because it eliminates the need for reading glasses, when you need to read the fine print on the screen like Video On or Leave Meeting. The only problem with wearing one lens is that, for some reason, it makes me even ditzier than usual.
And that's saying something.
So I'm trying to figure out what’s going on.
I think it's pandemic brain, which is like a blonde having a senior moment.
Only the senior moment never ends.
Senior blondes in lockdown, unite!
I have no other explanation for it, but I can’t seem to get it together.
You know the expression, “If you want something done, give it to a busy person?”
I used to be that person.
I bet you did, too.
Do you have pandemic brain?
Join the crowd.
Let's schedule a big Zoom meeting and not show up.
Meaning, Bring Your Own Bra.
I used to get a lot of things done in a day, and never drop a stitch.
Those days are over.
Now I’m in WTF Time.
Now I get nothing done and forget all of my plans. The dishwasher broke down, and I forgot the dishwasher repairman was coming. The washing machine broke down, and I thought I had called the repairman, but I hadn't.
And I'm handing in this column just before deadline, which never happens.
This has to end.
Because something important has to begin.
Mainly, my day job.
I’m supposed to start a novel on June 1, and I can’t wait. I’m going to use that as a return to my normal life, even in lockdown. I’ll start the day with major caffeine, get to work, and meet my daily quota of 2,000 words.
I don't know what the title of the book will be.
But the one I just handed in was entitled Eternal.
Fitting, for a time space cadet.