Friends keep reminding me we’re all going “one day at a time.” This week was Passover and Easter. We managed a Seder and chocolate bunnies in baskets. I didn’t manage an Easter dinner, though we did eat leftover latkes and a vaguely Indian stirfry. But no Zoom conferences celebrating the resurection of Jesus. Not much of anything.

I never even changed out of my bathrobe. Perhaps this is a win? I’m known to be, um… inflexible; unless I’m sick I always get up, get showered and dressed, and do the day. So bucket list yay: perfectly healthy but nothing accomplished but a nap, a little reading, and binge-watching Season One of The Good Place. But I’m not sure it feels like a win. Any vision of lethargy and sloth terrifies me. It seems like it would be so easy to slip into it. (Though to be fair to me, I never really have; only the nervous breakdown that time, and everyone needs one of those.)

What’s rattling is how little there is we do that’s truly “essential.” Is there anything, beyond feeding the family? I’m not violating social distance rules or anything, but I’ve been out for donuts. I thought about buying a new TV ’cause ours is getting funky green pixels everywhere. I ordered some cute Corell plates that remind me of my childhood and will hold up better than our crumbling, plastic-leaching melamine. Essential? No, these activities more properly belong in the shame column, things I should not be wasting the risks of being out in public or perfectly good Amazon delivery energy on.

It’s hard to calculate what to credit, what to worry about. Are slipping work deadlines a problem? Or a sign that I’m focused on what’s really important, and taking care of my family? (It doesn’t feel like I’m taking particularly good care of my family, but I guess I’m generally tough on myself in that department.)

Last week I was telling everyone that I’m not ready to hear about or think about how long this shutdown might last. But today I realize I’m going to need to start breaking it to the kids. How likely is summer camp? School in the Fall? There are no sure answers, but the vague promises we’ve been giving about when things will be back to normal may not hold up. Physicians I know are saying 2021. Yikes!

OK, not going to Fall or 2021 yet. I’m trying to cut myself some slack. (See “Trouble Focusing? Not Sleeping? You May Be Grieving” in the NYTimes.)

But the part of me that expects myself to make the best of things and find the lesson in every setback is waiting for the lessons to come into focus. There will be lessons, right? Right? Maybe another day or two in my bathrobe and things will start to come clear.