The State of Being Crabby Part V: Covid Chronicles from the Couch


What did 2020 look like for me other than jammies all day, unruly hair and finally submitting to a desperate Covid cut by daughter, Kristin, armed with a pair of kitchen scissors? Not much.

Until my doctor hit upon the right meds that would tame my relentless arthritis pain, conjuring up ideas for a new novel turned out be as illusory as a Republican’s search for truth. After accomplishing absolutely nothing, I soothe myself with the excuse that watching a year’s worth of MSNBC and CNN and listening to their pundits go on and on, I am now an expert on how democracy down south works (or doesn’t), so much so that an American friend recently suggested I write to President Biden with my prescient suggestions as to how to save their democracy.

If I did manage to happen upon a human with whom to have a conversation, I was horrified to find that my word search skills had deteriorated to such an extent I seriously considered taking a cognitive test. Man, woman, camera, TV. There! Aced it! Uh, oh, I forgot one, didn’t I? Commenting on Facebook was the most I could manage because you can literally type into Google ‘what’s that word when you wanna do stuff’ and it would spit out the word ‘motivation’. I love Google! In the parlance of a regretful car insurance rep, though, 2020 was a complete write-off.

I am feeling increasingly creative now though since my sorry joints are allowing me to move a little, but more in a ‘Man! I’d love to paint that wall red!’ kind of way. Which, I suppose, might have been expected after having just spent the last year staring at it.

On the plus side, indoors I didn’t have to experience the winter, on either side of 2020. And we do have a functional fireplace. On the downside, I really missed my grandkids. It’s true; they are way more delightful than the ones that birthed them.

But the Covid year was also a year of discoveries, even from the couch. And I’m not just talking about nature and travel documentaries. I discovered that neither my husband nor I can cook. And I discovered that Western medicine, when you’re hurting, is a worthwhile pursuit. Say yes to drugs!

But there were vices too and I most certainly did watch too much TV. Indulging myself wth ice cream in front of the soft, flickering lights of the idiot box also led to moments of gratitude—gratitude that Netflix filled the boredom, take-out restaurants filled the tummy and the elastic waistband of my pyjamas ensured they always fit.

Madam Spring, smartly accessorized with numerous vaccines, is on the way, the correct arthritis medication lets me move again without uttering a single expletive, and there are big kisses waiting to be planted on the cheeks of Jaxon and Erika. And even though another unremarked birthday has made me older than dirt, I know 2021 is going to be the best year ever!

Inge Bremer-Trueman