by Katriana Galloway
You’re rotting. Your brain is shriveling, and your body is shrimping. I hate to say it, but you can’t claim your all-virtual internship is keeping you on your game when you’ve dropped to the behavioral capacity of a house cat; you’re periodically inspired to nibble at your dwindling snack stash, but otherwise you slink and slither miserably around the house without a single objective, leaving your hair everywhere and arguably serving little to no purpose in general. No amount of the profound self-introspection you congratulate yourself for carrying out in these lonesome times, or of the James Baldwin quotes and politically charged articles you’ve added to your Instagram story, can reverse the truth of you having begun to regularly converse with your bedside lamp, roughly your intellectual equal these days. We’ve gone months now without that constant whirl of stimulation that was many of our worlds pre-COVID, and, no matter how many squats you do a day or how many new drugs you try, the conjoined forces of time and mandated self-quarantine are dimming us all.
No doubt, you’ve been Netflixing heavily.