endless hours in front of computer screens, noticing that it's long past time I changed these drapes and cleaned this carpet and sorted through all the things we have for no apparent reason,
I'm going to need books and podcasts and real friends,
the kinds of books that transport me to some other world where the CIA is just a backdrop for a steamy love story and the end is guaranteed to be happy even if it leaves just enough unsolved to bring me back for the next one,
and, please, I need the podcasts where authors talk about what they cook, and how they write, and the way characters show up and poke at your insides until you bleed them out onto the page and then sometimes even then they aren't fully satisfied and they keep pushing until they burst out of you in prose you can actually be proud of, at least until you reread it tomorrow,
And I'm looking at you friend, the one who takes my phone call and tells me something that gets me laughing so hard that I forget why we aren't seeing each other in real life any more,
virtual happy hours, Saturday mornings on zoom, stolen moments laying in bed while your kids pop into your room and mine stays upstairs being sixteen and pretending she isn't related to me.
If I'm going to get through this being home all the time,
I"m going to need books, and podcasts and real friends.
But not necessarily in that order.