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Drogon protests rationing, but feline overlords must also check their privilege.

Obviously it’s the pizza’s fault. It arrived unexpectedly, like a time traveler from the past (February), a signal that I could extend my vacation from present reality for another day. I may even take the whole weekend off. After I sweep the floor, because if it gets too dirty it’ll be more work. After I change the litter, because the cats would rather risk kidney disease than use a dirty litterbox. After I wash the dishes, because I only have two sets. After I get the coffee delivery (grown by the Bugkalot of Nueva Vizcaya, whose ancestors were headhunters, not the suits who pirate you from your company), because caffeine is a basic necessity. After…wow, I’m free.

Untethered from my schedule I found myself adrift, constantly checking my phone and arguing with my cat, who is not pleased that his wet food portions have been cut due to the short supply. Turns out that it is impossible to ignore the pandemic. When I finally settled down to read Transit by Rachel Cusk, the part where the narrator and the builder discuss repairs to her flat in a council estate reminded me of my friend, Ryan. Ryan was a nurse in London, and in 2011 he lived on a council estate in Islington. His flat had huge windows and a stunning view of the city. The elevator smelled like weed and I kept getting lost walking back from the tube. (Though during a sudden storm, with my roaming signal down, I managed to figure out the bus route. Meaning I get lost because I want to.)

Ryan worked at the hospital where John Keats had trained as a doctor. He and his friends were tennis fans who took me to Wimbledon, and he had an ex whose greatest fear was that Beyoncé would have children. Some years ago Ryan got a good offer and moved to the UAE, where he works today. I checked on him—he’s not a frontliner, but he does rounds, and he’s worked during pandemics (SARS, Ebola) before so he’s super-careful about hand-washing and sanitizing. We had a laugh over Piers Morgan struggling to pronounce the names of Filipino nurses, and made a note to meet in London when this is over. Sanity maintenance protocol: Take all precautions and assume you’ll be fine. In sort, cheerful paranoia will get us through this.