Editor's Note: Times Free Press columnist Mark Kennedy is writing an occasional column, Homebound, about his family's social-distancing experiences.
As our family enters Month 2 of coronavirus lockdown, I find my thoughts arriving in flashes. I'm not sure if this is some sort of Zen-like clarity or the sudden arrival of senility.
Anyway, here are some very random thoughts from behind closed doors.
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My hands are so swollen from constant scrubbing it feels like I'm wearing oven mitts.
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I notice there is lots of badminton going in our neighborhood, but very little goodminton.
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One day I rearranged the porch furniture, stood back and thought to myself, "Some red throw pillows would really make these chairs pop." In retrospect, I find this horrifying.
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My son, who used to look like peak Paul McCartney, now looks like Tom Hanks in "Cast Away."
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At this moment, I'm staring at a box of Chips Ahoy! cookies. I need a job naming cookies using bad nautical puns amplified with exclamation points. Barnacle Bars!
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Signal Mountain should have its own, mulch-based currency.
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It's harder and harder to justify cable TV without live sports. Watching NBA players play video games is not worth $100 a month.
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Everybody in our house is on a different sleep schedule, which all seem to revolve around intermittent, four-hour naps.
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I'm pretty sure about the day of the week, but I'm less certain about the month.
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Suddenly, going through the CVS drive-thru feels like a trip to Lake Winnie.
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Dishwashing has doubled, clothes-washing has been cut in half.
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Taking your temperature over and over when you don't feel feverish might be a sign of mental decline.
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I'm reading a lot. I've noticed a lot of national print reporters overuse the words "nuance" and "fraught." The New York Times, in particular, is becoming fraught with nuance.
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If a white car sits in one spot for a month collecting pollen, it will eventually turn beige.
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Something I've learned from Zoom: Most people have really bad wall art.
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Disturbing trend: I can now see ear hair in my peripheral vision.
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Melatonin dreams are cheaper than Netflix.
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One night, I dreamed I was playing emergency defensive end for the Pittsburgh Steelers. I tried to tackle Derrick Henry of the Tennessee Titans and both my arms came off, so they took me out.
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While on my daily walks, I may kneecap the next jogger who blows past me snorting like Secretariat at the Belmont Stakes.
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I drew four aces in one hand of spades the other night and could not suppress a giggle. This is why I am no good at poker.
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Before the full lockdown I tried to give a pet-store worker a tip, but was told that I could not leave a gratuity by credit card, check or cash. So what's left? Bitcoin?
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The act of repeatedly turning on a light switch - when you know good and well that the power is off - is called amp-nesia.
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Once the coronavirus wanes, Chattanooga should offer to pay actor and Instagram influencer Leslie Jordan $1 million a year to be our official tourism spokesman. Anyone who thinks that's too much is not paying attention.
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Gummy vitamins aren't that bad if you chase them with hard liquor.
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com.