Misery loves company. We’ve all fallen down this rabbit hole together. Daily life becoming curiouser and curiouser. I try to imagine what it will all be like when it’s over, when we all emerge like moles blinking in the sun.

Life - as we know it - has changed.

They say this quarantine will be a spigot. Until a cure is found we will need to turn it off and on. Social Distancing - the new norm. I don’t even want to think what this means for my dating life. If I’ve just unintentionally become a nun? I didn’t sign up for this. I say.

They say only 2 things are certain - Death and taxes. And that feels true. In spite of this quarantine taxes need to be done. And taxes send me into despair. Numbers in general actually do. As a teenager Algebra would make me cry. I’m not stupid. I say. Feeling myself contract. I’m not stupid. I try to convince myself again.

Suddenly I’m Alice in Wonderland and I’ve drank the potion marked Drink Me and I shrink smaller and smaller until I can no longer reach the keyboard, my fingers stretching from the floor looking in dismany as the whole room has morphed out of proportion and I want to crawl into a little ball but my body stiff from lack of movement inside my cage won’t curl and I really must get these taxes done - I can’t. I tell you. I can’t.

I try for daily life to go on. I’ve a podcast to record, and a speech to video for a conference gone digital. I’ll be moderating a digital panel for a magazine soon. And then there’s that special project... the project which is what answers me when I ask the question What’s Next? I am starting to formulate a plan. But first there is fucking taxes and my accountant seems no help. I look around for help - I feel so small - how do I become myself again?

Wasn’t it the Caterpillar who saved Alice?

Absolem.

Who are you? He asked.

I — I hardly know, Sir, just at present — at least I know who I was when I woke but I must have been changed several times since then.

Wait. I have leftover Mushroom soup.

One side of the mushroom makes Alice shrink. The other makes her grow.

Food soothes my soul. I open my refrigerator and manage to drop the entire container splashing mushroom soup all over myself and the floor. Fortuny comes to help licking at the floor.

I am wearing white jeans and a white sweater. And I am now covered in little bits of brown poop like residue. There’s a splash near my face. Some goes on my chin. I lick it.

God that was good soup. I must make another pot. My ankles to knees are drenched.

Standing in the kitchen I strip bare. Pulling out my French dish towels I ironed last week I soak up the mess and place the linens and clothes in the sink standing naked rinsing them with cold water until the water runs clear.

I go to my cupboard and pull out fresh clothes. Sliding on my boots. Walking out the door. I’m mad I think. Entirely bonkers. But I smile to myself - The Best People are. I buy more mushrooms. En route home the police stop me asking where I’m going.

It’s late. Almost curfew. I’m late. I say. I’m late for a very important date.

Once home I simmer mushrooms, adding bouillon, not 1 but 2, then comes cream. I am making Mushroom Soup- again -for supper. I’ve a date with myself for dinner.

OUR SPONSOR:

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