a year of isolation, and a balcony revamp

It's been over a year of sheltering in place. The one-year anniversary came and went last week without fanfare. A few days ago I was standing in my closet, looking at my neatly pressed work clothes with an odd sense of disconnect. It feels weird to think I used to put these on every morning and rush out the door to catch the 7:30 train.

I'm preemptively waxing nostalgic about my work-from-home lifestyle because it's presumably coming to an end soon. Lots of perks to this life: Waking up at 9:30 and heading to the kitchen to make my morning mocha. Having a flexible time schedule. Taking afternoon naps. (Sometimes I get woken up by the boss calling to talk about this or that project; but I'll take mostly uninterrupted naps over no naps at all.) In the evenings I often take a walk on the balcony and hear the outbound train, and I think, Imagine being out all this time and only now getting to come home. Rough life.

I still miss things from outside. I want to walk among skyscrapers; I want to stand in direct sunlight; I want to weave through crowds and order lunch in a crowded fast food joint. I want a caramel mocha frappuccino. But for the most part I'm content here. This morning I was woken up at 7:30 by the sound of workmen installing new patio doors on all the balconies. Annoying, but it's also a weird kind of luxury, since normally I would've had to wake up even earlier to leave the house.

So that's my gratitude journal for the day. Here's my ingratitude journal: Why is apartment management having new patio doors installed during a pandemic?? Just one asymptomatic or presymptomatic workman and we could end up with half the building hospitalized. Also the workers left debris all over the balcony.