Thoughts on settling into off-campus life within a pandemic.

You have a 9:00p.m. dinner of plain white rice, cold and straight out of the tupperware, for the second night in a row.

The mold in your bathroom is like the mold in the dorms, but you kind of like this mold, whereas in the dorms you did not like it.

An ungodly amount of cold plain white rice.

There is a dog that yells at you when you walk down your street.

There are squirrels who visit you every afternoon to express their anger at the fact that you moved into their neighborhood.

Only one houseplant has died so far.

You do not feel like a grown-up and have started wondering when that’s supposed to happen.

You buy the Aldi version of something from Cornucopia.

Even though you did not have or go to the parties, you feel strangely guilty.

The hot water has mood swings, and you’ve learned to just keep your distance.

You like when the wi-fi cuts out, because it gives you an excuse to feel like a person in a room and not a person floating in space.

You are an economist in the days before grocery day.

Now, the weather makes you think about what you’ll make for dinner that evening and what you’ll listen to while you’re cooking.

There’s a corner of your room where the golden hour light hits.

Between robot-classes you pace and look at the walls and feel safe for long moments.