The big problem for me, in my small apartment, is the kitchen. It’s six steps from my spot in front of the TV.
I blew through a box of 24 Popsicle sticks in a day and a half. A tub of chocolate ice cream was gone in 24 hours. With little to do except type, read and watch TV, I find myself constantly raiding the refrigerator.
In a piece of bad timing, I’m on vacation this week. I had an awesome plan to fly out west and take a train across the American southwest. Instead I’m in semi-isolation inside my third-floor walkup with very little to do.
I cooked up a plan this past weekend to take a short trip, coronavirus be damned. I was going to pack three days of food in a cooler and drive down to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The only danger of public exposure would have been pumping gas and handing my credit card to the desk clerk at the hotel.
I decided against that. Someone might have pounced on it as an example of the elite, privileged media taking vacations while everybody else is trapped at home.
The backup plan was a hike up Prospect Mountain — I think that meets the governor’s definition of “solitary activity” — but then Mother Nature went and dumped snow all over it.
So I’m sitting alone at home.
I already miss the office, and it’s only been a few days since we were told to work from home. Going to work is something I look forward to. I don’t have a spouse, kids or pets. The office is where I spend most of my time. The office is where I do most of my social interaction.
Making this all the harder is the fact that I don’t see an end game when it comes to getting back to normal, especially with different states handling the coronavirus situation in different ways. It doesn’t look like a couple more weeks is going to get us anywhere near the finish line.
I keep thinking about what our sports department would be doing now if the coronavirus hadn’t come along. Undoubtedly, this week we would have been writing the annual “s’no fun” story (so-called because of a headline once used by another newspaper) about high school teams practicing indoors because of snow covering their fields.
I never thought about how much the sports world gives cadence to my life. The birth of a season, the ticking off of games, the glorious victories and gut-wrenching defeats at the end, followed by the birth of another season ... they all provided a timeline that moved me through life. It’s missing now. It’s like being trapped in an empty room where the clocks don’t work.
As one of the high school athletes I interviewed last week said, “I wish it would just be back to the way it was.”
Contact Sports Editor Greg Brownell via email at email@example.com. Follow him on Twitter: @glensfallsse.
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