a fine lie

Click here for AUDIO version.  Yep, that's my voice.

I don't want to talk about it.
I just want you to think that I am fine.
Like, surviving.  Like eating meals and bathing myself.
Maybe I want you to think that I am more than fine.
That I am finding great pleasure in cobbling together meals from what's on-hand (we're not starving; there's just little variety and not much fresh produce when you only go to the store every 12 days and your fridge is not full size.)
That I am exercising happily every morning and smiling into "zoom" happy hours every night.
That my daughter and I sit side-by-side as we cheerfully work through her remote learning assignments and make fun crafts that I have found on Pinterest.
That I am reading more and writing more without the distractions of, you know, a job.... or that imposing .5 mile I had to walk taking my girl to and from school every day.

But I hate to misrepresent.
Especially now.
Especially when it's so easy to misrepresent.

My Facebook posts are a blend of smiling fitness videos and cute art projects, and I feel compelled to set the record straight:

The work and income I had lined-up for 2020 is gone.  It's not happening for a long time.
I am scared to go out of the apartment.
As of now April 23 and roughly 2:00 PM, Queens has 43,713 confirmed cases of Covid-19 and 3,432 deaths, so my fear is not unfounded.
When we go to the store, we carry everything home because our car is in Ohio (don't ask.)
We wash and/or disinfect every grocery item.  We borrow the (absent) neighbor's freezer space because in this building we have small freezers in small fridges in small apartments.
We generally do laundry at a laundromat where you wash and dry your clothes in a bunch of metal machines and then fold them on metal tables.  You know what surface the virus lives on longest?
We have been granted access to a private washing machine, but there is no dryer.  So we hang the wet clothes up around the apartment and let them dry overnight.  When I wake up in the morning, the whole apartment is covered with dish towels and underwear.  We strung up a makeshift clothesline between cupboards in the kitchen.  This laundry situation maybe depresses me most of all: what life choices have I made that have led me to have to hang out wet clothes over every surface of my living space?
I do not attend group Zoom calls because I am not happy enough for Happy Hour.
Instead, I have drinking hour.  It feels more authentic.
I do exercise early, and I record myself so that my clients and friends can follow along.  I am wearing makeup and smiling when I make these videos.  Because no one will be motivated by a sleepless grumpy lady with bags under her eyes.  If you see one of my fitness videos, may you remember:  I am smiling because I am an actor.
And I do make cute art projects with my daughter.  But she is often resistant and I am often impatient (I'm an actor, but I'm not that good.)  When we lose ourselves in a project, it is by far the best part of my day.  Construction paper.  Elmer's glue.  Everything is going to be okay.  Scissors.  Markers.  Glitter!  (I stopped buying glitter when I found out it was bad for the environment, but with all that I have on hand it seems like the perfect time to put it to use.) Ribbons? Gems? Metallic-ink pens?  Yes, yes, yes!  And when it's all over, we pack all the supplies back into a small bin that lives on an upper shelf in her bedroom.  All that stuff.  In one bin.  Just pack it all up.  It's the closest thing I have to control.
Leisure has never suited me, but I am hardly enjoying the "opportunity" to achieve.
I can't focus.
I can't think.
I know everyone is looking forward to all those quarantine plays that will be written, but none will bear my name.  How can I write?  I'm making a Rainbow Fish collage with pipe-cleaner coral.  Get six feet off my back.
And then, I think, whatever.  Why complain?  We are all struggling.  The whole world.
This family is in the epicenter of the epicenter of the pandemic and we are still healthy.
I should be grateful.  I am grateful.
But, I am not, despite what my social media persona leads you to believe, fine.

Three quaran-teeny things while I have your attention:

1.
Twice a week I allow myself to go jogging.
For exercise.  For the fresh air.  For solitude.  For... ever; I want to run forever.
But I try to get out and back in by 7:00AM to avoid as many humans as possible (or 8:00 on the mornings that I am delayed from drinking extra coffee and reading articles from The New Yorker about Covid-19.)
Most New Yorkers understand how to walk down the sidewalk and make space for one another (it's the tourists that fuck this up, just ask Times Square), and among New Yorkers, joggers are especially skilled at navigating others.  These days, if another pedestrian shows poor social distancing signals, joggers leap from sidewalks and run in the actual (quiet) streets for a few paces, choosing the risk of vehicle contact over human contact.
Overall, though, people are getting it.  We make large arcs with our feet and try to smile with our eyes.  But there is one group of New Yorkers that just aren't doing it.  They're not.  It's not a generalization; it's fact.  Defend if you must, call me bigoted, but those fucking pigeons do not know how to social distance.


2.
What are these emails I'm getting?  Who is behind these marketing campaigns?  I had to Unsubscribe from all Gap emails, because, I'm sorry, a "peep at your spring party looks?"  That's just not where I am this spring.  Spring party looks???  Who's going to a party?  Is this a Zoom party?  Am I supposed to be dressing for those?  Screw you, Gap.  And while we're at it, hey, LinkedIn, "someone's looking at my profile?"  Are you shitting me?  No one is looking at my profile... Or rather, no one is looking at my profile for the right reasons.  (LinkedIn, I am not crazy about this feature to begin with, because it is always a letdown.  I think I am going to discover that "someone" is a casting director, but it's always "someone who works in Business Development." No one who works in Business Development is seriously considering hiring me.  Or they shouldn't, anyway.)  And now, now, LinkedIn, in the midst of a pandemic, at a time when my theatre career has vanished, and my fall-back-on fitness career is barely able to sustain, someone is looking at my profile?  Who is this someone?  I know I know, you'll tell me when I upgrade, or finally agree to that 30-day trial, right?  No, thanks.  LinkedIn, stop it.  There is no one looking at my profile who should be looking at  my profile.  Whoever is looking at my profile, needs to gently close his or her laptop and take a lap around the living room, because you have clearly been on your computer too long if you are looking to make career connections with Ginna Hoben.  I am an unemployed insomniac doing construction paper crafts with a five year old.  Then we watch musical theatre songs on YouTube (often in costume) and sing off-key.  Then I drink wine and sleuth out the balanced meal I will make with rice, Ditalini pasta, and pickle relish.  LinkedIn...  Puh-lease.

3.
I do not leave my apartment, my family members do not leave the apartment, and no one visits us.  We continue to practice self-hygiene and we do not wear shoes inside.  So, how, how-fucking-how, are my kitchen floors this filthy?