We’re about a month into quarantine and if you were here, I think you’d be annoyed by it all.
You’d probably joke about it being called the coronavirus, “What? They didn’t want to call it the budweiservirus? That makes more sense.” I imagine you’d send me funny memes you found on the internet making fun of the virus and the fact that we’re now all hoarding toilet paper as if it were gold.
I imagine you’d joke about me and toilet paper, then ask me sweetly if I had enough at home because you knew I had a stomach condition.
You wouldn’t feel much change in your work schedule since we’ve been working from home for the last few years, but you would be frustrated about being cooped up in your apartment for days on end.
I imagine you’d call me when you were bored to relay work messages to me. Since our big work event will now be an online show, we’d bicker about the videos you’d need to do and the fact that I always wanted everything to be spelled correctly. It was a point of contention and hilarity between us. You always thought I was so anal to want things spelled correctly.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot these days. A friend of mine, the one you visited, told me she had a dream about me, followed by a dream about jelly. I’d like to think you were just dropping in to say hello.
I miss you so much. I wish you were here so we could complain about the craziness of all of this.