We are bunkered down in the house, no contact with the world outside. My husband watches television all day. The news laps against my ears like waves at high tide. I constantly find myself in the kitchen – cooking, cleaning, doing the dishes, washing vegetables, chopping, cooking, cleaning. Rinse and repeat. The skin on my hands is eroding; bits get washed away under the tap and fall into the drain, reaching god knows where. Between chores, I remember to pop my pills. I try to be regular and sometimes even set alarms on my phone. But when the alarms go off, I forget why I set them. My husband has taught me to write the purpose against the alarm, but it’s too much of a bother. In fact, to tell you the truth – and please don’t share this with anyone, for they will find it ludicrous – I am mortally scared of phones. When mine begins to ring, I startle each time, jumpy at the thought of stuttering and stammering into it and getting all jumbled up. I would much rather see people in person than speak with them on the phone. But lately, people have shrunk to voices;…