Imagine if you took breakfast, lunch, and dinner and you just mashed them altogether in a big bowl. Eggs with a PBJ and roast chicken. Yogurt and broccoli. And that’s your one meal for the day?

None of it would taste good. You would look forward to it not at all.

That’s how life is feeling to me as we slide into a new semi-lockdown.

Everything is bleeding together. Every day I have meetings, I watch Netflix, I make overnight oats, I practice guitar, I go for a walk, Jack comes by and I say “Hey! Jack Nuckols!”, I throw the yarn ball, and the dogs goes and gets it, and then I throw it again.

None of it feel distinct. Very little of it brings me joy.

Making dinner with Shani used to bring me great joy. Now, I silently dread it for some reason and stay on the computer a little longer than I need.

Eating dinner as a family used to be a source of joy. “I hate this pandemic, but I do love how we’re eating together every night.” But now I can’t even seem to remember most dinners. I know we have them, but I can’t seem to bring up any memory of them whatsoever.

Lockdown feels different this time. Or rather, it doesn’t feel like anything at all.

This past March it was new and special. A family adventure. And we had the summer to look forward to; I spent hours planning camping trips to do on weekends.

But now it feels like the exact opposite of an adventure. Thanksgiving and Christmas, which I normally look forward to mightily, look to be shells of themselves. Same daily routine with different music in the background. Staccato zoom calls over the meal.

Maybe I’ll just take my entire Thanksgiving meal and put it all in a big bowl. The stuffing, the sweet potatoes, the apple pie — choke it down as a single unremarkable non-event.