On March 21, 2020, Illinois Governor JB Pritzker announced a shelter-in-place order due to the COVID-19 epidemic. Remember when we called it the “novel coronavirus”? I was living in Chicago at the time, but had been canceling most of my social plans for weeks—so many of my family members lived in Europe then that I knew this shitty situation would eventually land on our shores. And land it did.
I spent the two months of lockdown living alone, in my two-bedroom Avondale apartment with a yard (what a fucking luxury), with my bulldog, Charlie. I was super single, my last relationship ending in early 2019 when C. (as we shall call him, because this is as close as I’ll get to being Leslie Jamison lol) moved to Portland. I had no close family in the city. I had no close family IN THE COUNTRY. I was terrified of getting sick because there is only so much you can rely on your friends, who were also going through whatever personal nightmare this unleashed on them. Shout out to my mom friends who, I dare say, may have been the most tortured of all.
A few weeks into the panini, when it looked like the order might be lifted, my friend Erica suggested writing a letter to our future selves about what this moment was like. I wrote mine on June 2. The internet tells me Mayor Lori Lightfoot announced the end of shelter-in-place earlier than that, though my letter says otherwise, but we were in the thick of the George Floyd protests. I lived close to the Mayor so my neighborhood sounded like a freaking war zone. I wasn’t afraid of the protesters, I rallied them. But I was deathly afraid of the armed and aggressive police presence everywhere, choppers and drones included, which I knew could kill me over the slightest movement and get away with it.
What is this very long preamble leading to? Well, here is my letter for all of you to read. As a commemoration for what we’ve been through. I don’t know what it says about me or my life or my choices, but out of all three complete COVID years, 2023 was by far the worst and most painful. I fondly remember the second half of 2020, most of 2021, and the first half of 2022. Then it all went to shit, LOL.
But I do not, for one second, ever want to shelter in place again. I hope the next epidemic catches me at 98, on some cruise ship, and ends me quickly. (Oh, I haven’t forgotten about Avocado Toast! I wanted to share this now, though, given the anniversary.)
Here it goes:
Dear Ines,
As you write this, you’re in the middle of a text conversation with the friend you worry about the most. She has kids, a full-time job, a husband who won’t pull his weight, and who refused to vote against Trump. You slept better yesterday after taking an edible and going to bed at 9 pm. Since Sunday, the neighborhood has sounded like a war zone even though there is no damage to justify it. Stores are closed or boarded up, usually both. You’re safe at home, but you could use a break from the sirens.
AND WE HAVEN’T EVEN MENTIONED THE FUCKING PANDEMIC YET.
When the pandemic showed no way of stopping in Europe, you knew you were in deep doo-doo. The worst anxiety came before the lockdown when you’d wonder why the government wasn’t doing anything and dudes kept messaging you when you were obviously hyperventilating into your morning coffee. Then your mom got sick and you had to fight with your ex to keep Charlie and you cried every day.
Then it went quiet.
It was the strangest crisis, knowing that fighting for people meant sitting at home. You took on work, so much work, and–as if you were the character in some horrible Scrooge reinterpretation–you realized having a windfall of cash wasn’t that great if you couldn’t actually have fun with others. Joggers became your nemesis, as did couples who refused to walk single file. The last man you had a fling with was over six feet tall and it was his image that popped up whenever you tried to determine if you were keeping social distance.
You worked so much.
You realized you had the strength of one of those immortal Sicilian grandmas who can’t be killed because you took to quarantine like a champ. Everyone you know violated it in some way but you did not socialize for any of it.
You miss friends, crowds, sweaty bars, packed concerts, food arriving hot instead of room temperature. You spent the first month of lockdown not caring about anyone’s boner and the second month thinking only of boners. The most recent men in your life–C, Lawyer Dad, Hot Teacher– all texted on the same day, proving men have synchronized intuitive cycles too. You toyed with the idea of reconnecting with C but, as comforting as revisiting that relationship was, you’ve decided to close that door. Hot Teacher, against all predictions, is the one you’re supposed to see this Friday, when the order lifts.
They all pale in comparison to Charlie’s slobbery, grumpy love. How would you have survived this without him? It brings you to tears to think about it.
(Note: Instagram post of the day when my ex and Idecided Charlie would stay with me during quarantine.)
It’s been lonely but you’ve felt so loved. Facing the prospect of a COVID-19 isolated birthday, an occasion you usually spent traveling, you asked friends and family to send you mail. Their response was tremendous. Cards, stickers, food, sourdough starters, a tray of cupcakes. Friends have brought you supplies, checked in through windows, left packages in your mailbox.
(Note: Birthday selfie, still in lockdown. I bought myself a kiddie pool.)
You were supposed to have already moved out of Chicago, but it wasn’t in the cards. It’s in the cards for next year, according to la curandera Mexicana who read your Tarot cards via Zoom. Cause that’s a sentence that makes sense in these times.
When I open this, I hope I’m living somewhere else. I hope we’re at a point where we can safely travel because I want to take off so badly and OVERDOSE on the world. In my dream of dreams, Trump is in hell, there’s a vaccine and this will be an anecdote we lord over small children one day. I’ll have a book contract. I’ll have a writing life. I’ll have a schedule brimming with friend dates. I’ll have many plans to hug my family.
I’ll no longer have a reason to post the Elmo on Fire gif.
What I’m Reading
The Leaving Season: A Memoir in Essays by Kelly McMasters. Kind of a slow burn but she engages with some heady, intellectual concepts while exploring the demise of her marriage. One day, white women who flock to urban centers in their youth will explain to me why they are compelled to give it all up for a farmhouse in the middle-of-nowhere when they marry.
What I’m Watching
Shrinking is funny, heartwarming without being coy, easy to watch without dumbing itself down, and very soothing for someone who’s been in deep emotional turmoil for the past month. Don’t worry! Doing a lot better!
I’m watching Oppenheimer like it’s a series but not because it’s boring! I’m into the moral drama of it all.
Jenny Slate’s Seasoned Professional. The woman who made all helmet-haired, uranian-energy women believe we too could get into Jon Hamm’s pants one day
What I’m Listening
The only option after a breakup, really.
What I’m Downloading
Rachel Goes Rogue is unintentionally hilarious. Is this performance art? Is Bethenny Frankel behind this? Her PR team interviews Rachel as if they were talking to a 12-year-old girl who had a terrible first day of middle school. I’m obsessed! It is an interesting way of learning more about Reality TV behind-the-scenes production, I’ll give it that.
Shameless Self-Promotion
Q2 is shaping up nicely, but I’d still love some projects for May and June. My work wish list includes but is not limited, to:
Overseeing Spanish-language recording sessions for ad spots. I started doing this last year and absolutely love it! Agencies hire me because I can ensure actors are using the appropriate accent and tone, and sound clear. Since I also have a copywriting background, I can edit the script on the fly if need be.
More editorial/long-form work. I love a commissioned pieced, so if there are any editors out there reading this who would like to work with me, please reach out.
Translating news articles.
Interview-based pieces. Think About Me sections, profiles, internal reports, etc.
A reminder that I also provide feedback on artist statements. Reply to this email to learn more.
I’m still offering half-hour virtual Tarot readings. Eclipse season is upon us! Spring! A third of the year is gone! Tarot is a great way to clarify whatever has been bugging you lately. The suggested donation is $40. Books yours here.
Hoping to add more looks to my Poshmark closet this weekend, but please peruse the two items in there in the meantime.
Know someone moving to Brooklyn in May-June? My amazing roommates are looking for someone as cool as me to occupy my space. Respond to this email for more details.
Thanks to all my new minty-fresh subscribers! Your support means a lot. I hope to see you soon in my weekly virtual write-ins. Interested in joining? Upgrade for the invite and access other benefits like samples of my pitches or freelance templates.