Everywhere I look on social media, I see Zoom — as I’m sure you are. Instead of in-person writing retreats, there are Zoom retreats. Instead of in-person yoga sessions, there are Zoom yoga sessions.
In the case of my son, there’s Zoom school. (He’s 3. You can guess how that typically goes.)
You’d think Zoom would be easier than real life. Instead of getting ready to leave the house and drive somewhere, you just pop on Zoom, right?
Wrong!
No, before your Zoom meeting, you have to take a shower
Do your hair. Put on real clothes (at least on your top half) and then trick your kid into putting real clothes on too by inventing a clothes fairy who lives in the closet.
You have to brush your kid’s hair and make sure he’s done eating and doesn’t have food all over his face before the meeting begins.
And then — and this is the worst part — you have to clean your house. Theoretically, those of you with older kids can just make one little section of your house look presentable, but my 3-year-old loves to wander during Zoom meetings, so the entire house has to look normal.
And don’t tell me people aren’t noticing the state of the house. They most definitely are.
Aren’t you peeking at their surroundings, too?
Once you log onto Zoom, you have to bring all your social skills to the table but also be ready for some seriously awkward pauses.
If you’re like me, you attempt to take a Zoom breather by staying out of the frame during your young child’s stuff, only to notice that your face may be out of the frame but your (clothed) boob isn’t, and it looks extra weird just floating next to your son like that without a face attached.
Then you look below the boob area and see a nice squishy belly rolling into the frame.
Fun times.
And don’t get me started on the “convenience” of Zoom, as far as scheduling is concerned.
It is not convenient, my friends
Example: Do you need to make a quick, masked trip to the grocery store or post office?
Sorry, the kids have a Zoom meeting at 10 a.m. and then again at 2 p.m. and then you have one for work at 4 p.m. It’s not like you can run by the store on the way back from your Zoom meeting, like you would if you were bringing the kids home from actual school because you haven’t even gone anywhere.
I know it’s all very necessary and the Zoom execs are sitting over there getting rich, but I’m just about Zoomed out.
I see ads popping up all the time about telehealth. Zoom health, essentially. Talk to a counselor — without leaving the comfort of your home! Speak to a doctor — while in your pajamas!
Here’s the thing, folks: I signed onto telehealth to talk to a doctor about some worrying symptoms I had back in March.
My hair was a mess. It was 2 in the morning. I was wearing pajamas (which, for me, means a shirt and underwear). I looked, in other words, like hell. The room was strewn with used tissue paper, Vicks VapoRup grease, and cough drop wrappers.
I had two options for this consultation with a doctor: video or phone.
Video would’ve been more helpful, but I chose phone.
Because video’s too dang exhausting
So send your invitations for Zoom retreats, concerts, parties, book clubs, and gatherings elsewhere, because I just can’t.
I’ll be sitting over here in my pajamas, surrounded by my messy house, waiting for the day we can do these things in person again.
