It was this time last year when the world came to a halt. The streets emptied of cars. Restaurants shuttered their doors. Churches echoed with silence. Everyone hunkered down in their homes and drank hot tea. No one went out to drink with friends–there was nowhere to go drinking. No one went to amusement parks with their kids–the amusement parks closed. No one did anything except stay by themselves in their narrow little living space.
In other words, just another day for me.
I do not purposely choose to be a hermit. Or, to put it another way, I didn’t choose the hermit life, the hermit life chose me. I don’t know why. Normally I’m a gregarious fellow, full of stupid jokes and good humor. I don’t get drunk and abusive at parties. I don’t insult my friends or ask for money. I don’t smell bad.
Yet I end up alone. A lot. Enough so that last year I wrote four book-length manuscripts between 70,000 and 80,000 words each. Enough so that when I get up in the morning I give myself a pep talk and tell myself, “let’s get a lot of stuff done today.” Because there’s no one there to tell me to get on the ball.
It hasn’t always been like this. Indeed, I’ve been married twice. My first wife, the Sweet One, did not like people and stayed in our little Eureka apartment while I went to socialize with the amateur actors I was hanging with. When I went to law school, my wife showed up with me to one party. She left after 10 minutes and told me to find a ride home. So I’m not THAT anti-social.
My second wife, The Dragon Wife, was far more sociable. Too much so. After she tried to kill me three times (two attempts she cops to), she invited all manner of marginal people into my home (I lived in an apartment on Pine Street so she and her teenaged son and her dogs could have a place to live). These people ran up the electric bill, turned my back yard into a garbage dump, and even broke down the front door after she moved out so they could have a place to stay for the night.
So between my wives, I’m in the middle. I will actually talk to people–most of my friends and family hear from me on the telephone at least once per week. But I don’t have constant parties at my little duplex home in the desert. In fact, I can think of only four people who’ve come to visit me in the nearly three years I’ve resided there.
So when the order for lockdown came, I shrugged. I was already on my own personal lockdown.
And, in fact, I ended up continuing to run a law practice and going to the office and going to court. No rest for the wicked.
But I did stay home nights working on my books and stories and essays and other assorted annoyances to those who know me.
Now I’m rewriting one of those books. It’s hard to recover ground I’ve already gone over. It’s easier because I’m used to being confined in the duplex. What else is there to do?
We are finally emerging from the Covid-19 lockdown. Infections are down, hospitalizations are down, we have three vaccines and President Biden says by the end of May there will be enough vaccines for all of us. You know what that means.
The world will regain its feet and begin running around me again. I will be happy for you. But don’t try to coax me from my cave. I’m happy here.
Mark Bruce, Writer 