A couple of days ago, we were told that the Stay The Fuck At Home Order was being extended to May 15th, at the very least. Not Ideal.

We’re past the “oh this is an opportunity to do all the things you’ve never had time to do” stage and on to the “get me the hell out of here” phase of the quarantine. It’s been over a month since we’ve been reduced to hermits, shut off from civilization except through our little black mirrors.

ESPN covers video games exclusively, states and their respective governors are revolting, I’ve eaten more PB&Js in the last few weeks than my entire time in middle school. This shit is a mess.

But it could always be worse. People are gravely ill and leaked drone footage of mass graves across the country is haunting and surreal at a time when it seems like no one on Earth knows how to solve this problem. But I can’t focus on those macro issues, they’re overwhelming. I’m not personally going to solve the fucking Rona. All I can do is stay home, get through this with my physical and mental health intact, and make sure my loved ones do the same.

With that said, I will now complain about my minuscule and insignificant problems.

My hair was too damn long.

Honestly, I had needed a serious cut for probably a month or so before the quarantine but I just kept putting it off. I’ve been living downtown for over a year but still haven’t found a barber I like. A month into the quarantine, it had gotten ridiculous. I was shedding everywhere and it kept getting in my eyes all day. Just a mess.

Then, this weekend, I snapped.

I finally had enough, all the hair had to go. I dug through my closet for the Wahl clippers I thought I had, to no avail. My little beard trimmer kept eyeing me from the bathroom counter like “don’t you dare even try it.” I knew it wouldn’t work. Of course it wouldn’t work. This little guy was meant for stubble, ideal for quick trims in the morning before work. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I couldn’t go another minute with this mop on my head.

So, I picked it up and started hacking away. The little guy struggled immediately, begging me to stop. It couldn’t handle the job. I was blessed with a thicc, luscious head of hair, and the $10 trimmer was simply not built for this. A real David and Goliath scenario, except David just has a rubber band instead of his industrial-grade slingshot.

I had to stop every 30 seconds to give this dumbass little buzzer a break and clean it out because it started making sounds like it was dying. Then, with only the front half of my head shaved (poorly), the trimmer breathed its last breath. The AA battery died.

I gave my apartment a once-over, looking for any electronics that may use a AA. My TV remote housed some AAA, as did my electric weed grinder. I was out of luck.

There’s a CVS on the bottom floor of my building, so I made my way down there looking like a psychopath. I would have worn a hat but I didn’t want it to be filled with little tiny hairs forever, so I just pulled up my hood and sent it. When I got to CVS, they were turning away anyone without a mask and, in my crazed rush to leave the house and solve this hairmergency, I forgot mine. I know, I know, very irresponsible. So, I went back upstairs, grabbed a t-shirt, wrapped it around the back of my neck, and returned for batteries.

Once I put the new battery in, it came alive with a burst of energy I’d never felt from the brave little trimmer. I had a newfound confidence in my tiny friend. Together, we’d finish this job.

Two or three hours later, I was finished. Well, kind of. It was a complete hack job. Patchy, uneven, whatever the opposite of lined up is. I don’t own a little hand mirror, so I had to keep taking videos of the back of my head with my phone and watching them to see spots I missed. Really, a disaster.

Eventually, I just called it a night and figured by the time anyone saw me, it will have all grown in and nobody would be able to tell the difference. But every time I walk by the mirror in my bathroom now, I notice a new little patch I missed and chop it down, which is probably making everything more uneven, but I don’t care. I’m so much more comfortable now. It feels like a giant weight has been lifted from my head — because it has. The haircut did wonders for Quarantine Duke.

I wouldn’t say I feel like a million bucks, but maybe like a cool $1,200.