I was going to write a column about finding joy in the simple things, about the importance of staying calm during the Age of Coronavirus, about how when you can't do anything else, you can sing.
And then the kitchen looked like Goodwill after a cyclone.
And my son came in with more groceries that needed sanitizing. And we didn't have any more wipes.
And I put a butternut squash in the sink to wash it off. And my other son came in and started washing his potentially virus-y hands right over the squash.
I wasn't feeling all that great to begin with.
Is this what they mean by a tight chest?
"I'm so tired of this!" I shouted, picking up the squash and throwing it back into the sink bin with such force that it cracked the bin.
We'd done well so far in this alternate COVID-19 world, me and my two housemates, who by all rights shouldn't be in this space with me -- a 22-year-old son who'd been about to graduate from college and go far away, and his 31-year-old brother, who'd left a vibrant work and social life in D.C. to come home to help.
We've been singing and painting, reading poetry and cooking, washing our hands, disinfecting our phones and practicing the strictest of social distancing.
The other night, the guys had a bonfire, and when I looked outside to check their distance from each other, I saw they could have put a soccer field between them.