crap no. 56

HEY! My homeland (Nova Scotia) has just declared a state of emergency and I’m quite sure that I’m not supposed to be sitting next to my window or using my computer but I thought you might NEED me and my run-on sentences right now so here I am. The world feels upside down and 2.0 shoved his elbow in my face when I tried to kiss him the other day. These are the times we live in. I’m still out here living my best mediocre life and you’re still out there reading the crap I put on the internets so… I hope my words bring you a comfort equivalent to a well-stocked cupboard of toilet paper.

The dance studio that employs me has been shut down thanks to The Virus. Our shows have been cancelled, examinations postponed. Generally, we adhere to an unless-you’re-bleeding-from-the-eyes-the-show-must-go-on policy, so this is uncharted territory for us. Like a lot of you, we’re out of work. The dance community is made up of a lot of self-employed, hourly wage earners without benefits. I’ll be okay because 2.0 is still working and even if that changes we will be fine for a while, so I’m very grateful and I’m not even being sarcastic.

Some dance schools are launching online classes which I find rigoddamndiculous because I’ve been telling my dancers for years that you can’t learn ballet on YouTube (#jobsecurity) and the whole point of coming to class is not YOU SEEING ME but ME SEEING YOU and telling you how much something you are doing sucks. It is my greatest joy. Dance is passed body to body, like a virus. I need to be near you to spread my virus knowledge to you. So these days I’m more concerned about my eyes rolling out of my head than I am about catching COVID-19.

Related: I’m definitely going to get murdered to death by the dance community in the coming days.

In addition to crushing poverty and the probable collapse of my photography business in the coming months (#cheerful #optimistic #nothinggetsmedown), this unexpected period of unemployment means no walking through the door at 10 PM to learn that “Dorey really likes pizza sauce!” That’s what 2.0 told me last week when I got home from teaching. “She was crazy for the stuff!”

It also means that I don’t get to answer questions from my teenaged students such as, “Do you have any balloons in your bag? Like, some that you aren’t using right now?” Who the hell carries balloons around with them? (Other than a clown, obviously.)

I started stocking up on pandemic supplies a few weeks ago – a can of soup here, a box of pasta there. And I picked up some extra toilet paper long before people started hoarding the stuff. Still, though we have plenty of toilet paper for the two of us, 2.0 has been tracking the number of squares I use with each bathroom visit. “How many squares?” he’ll shout through the bathroom door. “Four? That can’t be right! Count again!” It’s a lot of pressure because sometimes I forget to count before wiping and it seems to make 2.0 very antsy.

Social distancing and isolation have afforded me some time to catch up on chores, writing and some online learning. It also means I’ve had to spend way too much time looking up internet acronyms like FTL, IMO, SMH, etc. Are people really too busy to just write actual words? How many of these people are rushing off to do emergency brain surgery? You can’t just write ‘in my opinion?’ WRITE WHAT YOU MEAN FFS.

Last night 2.0 brought me dinner in bed. I’m not sick — I was trapped under Dorey. He filled ramekins with leftover mashed potatoes and cheese and then put ’em in the oven till they were toasty, and warmed some leftover pork chops. Behold:

If you’re wondering why he cut my meat for me? I AM TOO. Am I sick and just don’t know it? Does 2.0 know something I don’t know? Has he found some of my teeth around the house?

A couple of weeks ago I slipped on our back steps and took a bit of a tumble. I didn’t hurt myself – other than my pride – and when 2.0 got home I told him about it, looking for a little sympathy.

2.0: Oh no! Are you okay?

movita: I’m fine. I didn’t hurt myself. Just a couple bounces off the ol’ ass, but I don’t feel like I hurt anything. 

2.0: Because of your extra padding?

movita: 

2.0: 

movita: What. Extra. Padding?

2.0: From your… coat?

Recently I went to the doctor and had some routine blood work done. My sister had been nagging me to get my vitamin D levels checked because hers recently tested very low and I guess she was hoping she could take someone down with her. She asked me 32,548 times to get tested so doing so seemed like the only way to get her to shut up.

The day after a lady took blood out of me, my doctor’s office called and said my doctor wanted to see me as soon as possible which is rarely a sign of affection and usually a sign of something-is-wrong-with-you. When I walked into her office she said, “Now before we discuss your blood work I’m just wondering if YOU have any questions or concerns about how you’ve been feeling?”

And I said, “No, but judging from the tone of your voice I’m guessing you THINK I should have some questions.”

Turns out I’m severely anaemic. Like, my blood is broken and my heart is ‘struggling.’ When my doctor showed me the numbers on my tests I said, “Oh, that’s not so bad,” because 94 out of 120 seemed like a decent grade but my doctor said, “Noooooo, that’s very bad,” and then gave me a look that said: it was nice knowing you. So now I’m taking pills and demanding lots of extra attention from 2.0 because I shouldn’t have to fetch my own snack food or the remote control for the foreseeable future given how ill I am.

By the way, my vitamin D levels were above average. And yes, I realize I wouldn’t have known I was dying if my sister weren’t so annoying.

Recently, when watching the commercial below, I turned to 2.0 and said, “Imagine being the guy who can now list ‘Stuck Poop’ on his resumé,” which started an argument because 2.0 refused to believe that the actor was playing the role of a trapped turd. So we rewatched it. Twice.

movita: See? That guy is poop.

2.0: No.

movita: Yes! He’s stuck. He’s CONSTIPATION. 

2.0: No!

movita: Yes. Look, both people in that commercial are in long, twisted waterslides. Those waterslides are INTESTINES.

2.0: NO! 

movita: Yes. And that guy? He’s stuck. He’s stuck in the poop shoot. But the woman? She slides right through. She’s happy poop. Weeeeeeee! 

2.0: No. No way.

movita: Wake up, man! You think that pool is accidental? Or is it a TOILET BOWL?

2.0: But… oh my God… really?

movita: Yup. 

After a few minutes, 2.0 was convinced and now when the commercial comes on 2.0 points at the man on the waterslide and yells, “Look, honey! It’s you!” Because the pills I’m taking to save my heart also cause constipation and this is my life now.

Stay healthy, friends!