The basic rule of social distancing is stay home; next step,

stay at least six feet away from people; thirdly, wash wash wash your hands.

This would be the plan with the goal of blocking transmission when sneaky aggressive invaders lurk about, too small to be seen. It can be an aggravation, but it can be a life saver. Also, social distancing can become depressing after a while.

Almost sliding into a funk, I found my partner in crime pulling me back before I reached the edge. Today was about to become the second day with no shower, and no to-do list in action. Still in my oldest unmatched pj’s, I was contemplating a third cup of coffee and a nap at nearly eleven o’clock, because, hey, it’s also the second day without making my bed. He had been talking to someone by phone about a tractor an hour and a half away. Would I go with him to look at it? Well, that would mean actually getting out of my chair and doing something besides Facebook and texting.  Add Messenger into the mix and there seemed plenty to do. This is not like me at all. What was happening to me?

For over a week now, I have been cooking and sharing food, running window-drop off-errands for us and my dad, conducting the business of appointment cancellations and rescheduling by phone, sanitizing and keeping the house neat, and repeating it all over again. Basically, avoiding as much human contact as possible. Suddenly I saw the cloud of monotony trying to shadow the shine of productivity. I was in a funk. Shaking the cobwebs from my head I realized I have been willing to do whatever I could for anyone else, but I couldn’t even get dressed, look human and take a ride with my husband? So thoughtful of me.  I took my rugrat self to him and said, fine, I’ll go.

Showered, trimmed and coifed, I was feeling much better. Jeans and a boyfriend shirt finished the job. Whew! That was close. As we headed out the door, I grabbed crossword puzzles, laptop and my Yorkie. Water for all and a small snack assured we wouldn’t have to break our social distancing by stopping at a country store or truck stop along the way. Road trips always make me hungry.

About 120 miles later, we arrived our destination and as he left the car to look at the tractor, I leaned out the door calling, “remember social distancing” adding a smile so the Tennessean wouldn’t think my husband had a lunatic passenger. I finished off the 2nd crossword, put the dog down for a nap and looked through a new Better Homes and Gardens. All was well until we started home. “I need a hand wipe” my dearest said. Okay…I hesitated to ask, but the look on his face made me. “You didn’t get close did you?” Just cleaning his hands from the tractor, I hoped. The answer he gave was, “Well, he stepped up to the door of the cab while I was in it. What was I gonna do?” This man is in solitary confinement. I mean it. I warned him.

Well, we are going to hope the tractor guy has been the hermit type long enough that we are safe, but really, now we see the wisdom of staying home, even in a funk. I will be following him around with the disinfectant spray. I will be getting back into my dorm pants and old T-shirts, and for a while now I will extend myself the grace of some down time without the guilt. After all, he will be waiting on himself for the next 14 days.  Home really is sweet.