We went to Home Depot today after very little sleep. For no reasons we can fathom, we both lay in bed staring at the ceiling most of the night. As a result, the current apocalypse does not lack entirely for zombies.
The line-up was longish, but we had a shopping list and map-like knowledge of the store and knew the wait was worth it. Sometimes I forget which Home Depot I'm in. The maps are damned reliable, but there are a few to pick from. Nevertheless, we didn't spend too long in store and got everything we needed.
While we were there I had my first real encounter with how this whole situation affects me personally.
There were signs everywhere saying that the store is only open for emergency needs, but let's be real. Our Freedom Fighting Fence Topper is not an emergency, but it will make a summer spent in the backyard with the cats a smidge less stressful. That said, I did feel a little bad. I mean, we're supposed to staying home whenever possible, limiting our shopping trips, postponing social events. For the most part, that's pretty easy for me. I don't shop much beyond groceries and the occasional yarn purchases. If I spend money, it's on home improvements/repairs/renovations.
At Home Depot. Local garden centres. Canadian Tire.
Places that are going to get busier and busier with longer and longer line-ups over the next few weeks. Garden centres will be opening May 1 and allowing only 15 people into the store at once. I don't know where people will park since the lots will be long, winding pallet mazes of hopeful, bemasked shoppers.
So much for my mid-May wander through stacks of overflowing colour to leisurely select basket-stuffers and a few tomato plants. I have to cross my fingers that my seeds will ever ship let alone arrive in time for me to have veggies this fall. At the very least, I have a bag of seed potatoes, an impulse buy at the till today. I can fill the new beds with spuds.
So much for slowly adding perennials to the still nearly empty landscape I created last summer. So much for the spontaneous little projects. The touch-ups. The quick runs for forgotten supplies.
I am aware that I'm pretty fucking privileged that this is the greatest impact Covid-19 has had on my life to this point, but that doesn't change the fact that I cried over my salad when we got home and didn't want to do anything for the rest of the <d>day</d> year.