Sometimes the best way to describe something is not to describe the object itself, but to compare it to something else. Similes can be of great value in writing, heightening the imagery of the text and enhancing the reader's understanding.
In these strange times, I've had many a moment of reflection and time to myself, pondering the how's and why's of life, collecting my own list of similes, gathering them up in a basket in my mind. A good many have come at the hand of personal experience in recent months. Please, allow me to share but a few here.
COVID-19 is a little bit like sin: it robs you of your senses.
Literally. I managed to contract COVID somehow along the way earlier this summer, and like many others who have had it, I lost all sense of taste and smell for a couple of weeks. It was surprisingly depressing to not taste or smell anything I was eating. I resorted to just drinking bone broth on occasion for meals because I thought resignedly so, "Well, why not just drink your meal? It's not like eating it is any more enjoyable." Sin is like that. Eventually when you're in so deep, you lose the ability to detect right from wrong anymore, desensitized to what is true, apathetic to the pursuit of right living.
Getting a COVID nasal swab test is a little bit like a Pap smear for your nose.
I need not comment further. Only women will understand this.
Quarantine is a little bit like an introvert's dream come true.
While in quarantine, there were friends and family who were genuinely concerned not only for my well-being as it pertained to the virus itself, but also to my being alone in quarantine. I always wanted to say, "Ha. Are you kidding me?! I'm living the dream here. Alone for weeks on end? Bliss." One of the very first social media posts somebody sent me back in March said, "CDC: To prevent coronavirus, stay home, avoid physical contact, and don't go into large crowds. Introverts: I've been preparing for this moment my entire life." Yes and amen.
Sometimes dealing with your health is a little bit like playing a game of Whac-A-Mole.
Both are maddening. Pre-COVID, I was sorting through a laundry list of health issues, and it seemed that every time I would go a follow-up appointment with one of my healthcare providers, some new issue would have surfaced in the interim. Whack. And then COVID hit and that presented its own issues. Whack. Now its dealing with my body post-COVID. Whack. For once, could one of you moles just go down and stay down?
Hunting for crickets is a little bit like a game of Marco Polo in the dark.
I hate crickets. With a passion. One of God's creatures that I absolutely do not understand why he made. And for whatever reason, they have decided to take up residence in my house, not just merely outside my house. I found one in the dishwasher. In the shower. In my bedroom. In the hallway. In the kitchen. In the dining room. And they chirp all the time. They seem particularly fond of the hours between 1 am and 3 am. One woke me up the other night around 1 am, and I could tell he was in the kitchen somewhere. It was all-out guerrilla warfare. With the lights off, I stood in one place and he stopped. I moved and waited in silence. He started chirping again and I moved closer to the sound. He stopped. I waited. He started again. I moved closer. One of us eventually lost that game of Marco Polo. It wasn't me.
Hunting for apartments is (presumably) a little bit like online dating.
I have never done online dating, but if it's anything like shopping for a place to live, then there is good reason why I won't be signing up for eHarmony anytime soon. Good heavens. What an overwhelming, exhausting, frustrating and annoying process. My landlords informed me (on the same day I got out of quarantine) they were selling my place unexpectedly, and I was sent scrambling to find a place to live. I visited a half-dozen complexes and looked at dozens more online. About a week into it, I told my brother I was just going to move into his basement. If by some strange turn of events, online dating becomes the only means to marriage, then I'll stay single forever, living in my brother's basement.
Since this pandemic doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon, I'm certain there will be no shortage of similes yet to be formulated. Whether those are dispatched from my brother's basement or not remains to be seen.
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