Vol. 48 - Notes from Quarantine
On being alone
The Menu. Derry Girls. Slow Horses. South Side. Echo 3. Withnail and I. Jeanne Dielman 23. The Last Movie Stars. And, of course, Confess, Fletch.
These are just a small selection of movies and shows from the watchlists I’ve compiled across our various streaming services; movies and shows that, as we co-sleep with our son and usually fall asleep with him, I have had no chance to watch over the last few months.
But since Monday morning, I’ve been stuck in a hotel room less than a mile from my home, with a brain rendered too foggy to read, ticking one flick at a time from my list.
For nearly three years, I somehow avoided getting Covid-19. Even as my wife and both of our children had it at the same time last year (and that co-sleeping son spent multiple nights breathing directly into my mouth), I never tested positive, never had a single symptom.
But now, in the throes of this latest surge, I finally got got.
Luckily, my symptoms are thus far very mild. It feels little more than a decent head cold that just won’t break. It could get worse. It could get better. But at this point, I’m very much able to function, write this newsletter, even to get a bit of work done. The only thing I can’t do well right now is read, something I’ve been striving hard to fit back into my routine now that I am a father.
I must admit, after five years of the ceaseless grind of parenthood, an indeterminate amount of time alone in a nice, quiet hotel room, armed with my laptop, a multitude of streaming services, and a king-sized bed without a fifty-pound five-year-old who is all limbs and mid-night breath sounds quite nice.
And it is. I won’t lie. This little mandatory break from fatherhood is about ten-percent nice. Maybe twenty-percent.
But mostly, it sucks.
I miss my babies. And something inside me feels as though my proximity to them enhances that. I’m only on the second floor of this hotel but if I were a few floors up, no doubt I’d be able to see my neighborhood. Hell, I didn’t miss them nearly this much when I was in North Dakota for a week for work.
I also feel terrible that I’ve left Emily high and dry with two kids who, according to their school’s Covid policies, are also stuck at home until Thursday at the earliest.
Because none of this was planned. Not like the weekend away with her girlfriends Emily is about to enjoy or the solo trip to New Orleans I’m hoping to take soon. Those little breaks from parenthood are mapped out far in advance, filled with activities and expectations that the at-home parent might keep everyone’s sanity intact.
This, rather, was a sudden wrench thrown directly into our routine, which we had just resumed after two long, routine-fucking holiday weeks at home with both kids.
Thankfully, I don’t seem to be getting too sick and for that, I’m lucky and thankful.
Most of all, I feel bad that I’m not getting better faster.
And by the way…
The Menu - Absolutely amazing. 10 stars.
Derry Girls - So far, so good.
Slow Horses - So far, so good. But better.
South Side - One of the best shows on television rn.
Echo 3 - Biggest chasms I’ve watched in a long time. Some absolutely sublime moments right along side some of the worst shit I’ve ever seen.
Withnail and I - Haven’t watched since high school. Equally as brilliant now as it was then.
Jeanne Dielman 23 - Haven’t watched since college. Even more brilliant now than it was then.
Confess, Fletch - Significantly better than the sequel (not hard). Not nearly as good as the original (impossible).