Hermit Time

The thing about the pandemic is that you’re not really supposed to go outside, but it turns out that many people desperately need to go outside all the time. It’s not even for work or to go to the store, but since we’ve all been forced to stay at home, hiking trails are more full and beaches are extra crowded. People really go out and immerse themselves in nature to get that breath of fresh air, which is very different from the same stale air that we’ve been breathing for months inside our now very inadequate houses.

But I apparently have no desire to go outside, basically ever. There are some weeks where I don’t even go out into my backyard. The laundry machine is even in the backyard, and I will postpone doing laundry because I just look out the back door and think it’s too much effort. And then I go back to bed, where it’s nice and warm and comforting.

And it isn’t as if before the pandemic, I never went outside. It was the opposite: I never spent any time at home. I would leave my house early in the morning, go to school, go to work, go to the theater, go wherever, come back home and have my cat scream in my face that I haven’t pet him enough. I was a workaholic. I always had something to do. I planned my errands on my way home from one thing or another, squeezing in grocery shopping in between commitments.

Now, I plan grocery shopping maybe once a month, when I absolutely must leave the house because I also have ten other errands I’ve managed to put off. Most of the time when I open the door to the great outdoors, it’s to let my cat in and out. Or to get a package that I’ve ordered online, which is another reason I don’t need to go outside ever. Online shopping is all I do. Which, to be fair, is something I did a lot of before too.

So while the entire world is clamoring to be let out, I’m sitting on the couch in sweats with my cat in another room because he refuses to cuddle with me, eating strange ice cream because the Instacart delivery guy said the one I wanted was out of stock and just dealing with it because ice cream is ice cream and I didn’t have to leave my house to get it. And I’ll look out the window and it’s nice and sunny and 70 degrees in February because it’s Los Angeles and it never gets cold and think meh, it’s far too much work to walk the twenty feet to the front door, open the door, get situated on my front porch, and continue to do nothing. Also, I would have to carry my ice cream and spoon outside, which realistically, is beyond expectations.

In conclusion, I am the ideal candidate for being a hermit, and would happily conduct all my daily business from my bed if I could. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by blankets and pillows all day? And an occasional fluffy cat?