The 8 Stages Of Being Trapped In Your Apartment For Days

1. Excitement. You’ve got supplies! You’ve got wine! You’ve got enough kettle corn to last for a year! You’re finally going to watch all five seasons of “Breaking Bad” and people will stop making fun of you for never having seen it. You are pumped and ready to be a shut in for days, weeks if necessary! Bring it on!!

2. Boredom. You’ve seen four episodes of “Breaking Bad” and it occurs to you that you’ve never watched this much TV in one stretch, except for that one time that you had the flu for a week and you watched all six seasons of “Sex and the City” and then called your dad crying, begging for chicken noodle soup. You start to yawn. Like BIG yawns. Endless yawns. You wander from room to room. Bathroom. Water. Wine. Kettle corn. You turn on another episode of “Breaking Bad.” You can’t do it.

3. Extreme Boredom. You decide human contact is the thing you need. So you text everyone you know and stare at the phone and wait for responses. The only people who text you back immediately are your mom and your roommate. She is sitting on the couch next to you and thinks it’s funny for you to text each other from the same room. Finally, other people start texting back, but you’re too bored to even respond to them … so … Facebook.

4. Punchiness. Facebook gets you high upon contact. You’ve never liked Facebook so much! There’s so many people doing so many different things! And you feel connected without having to actually communicate with anyone, which is exactly what you need. You jump into a ridiculous comment thread with this guy who lives in your neighborhood that you barely know. Then you start stalking his friends. The you start stalking Shitzus. There’s one named Meap you become obsessed with. Meap kind of looks weirdly like one of the queens on “RuPaul’s Drag Race.” OMFG! It’s a game! Which human friends of yours look like cast members on “RuPaul’s Drag Race”? Your search leads you to Google images, which leads you to Instagram, where you start stalking the photos of people you dislike and laughing at them. So-and-so is baking a cake.That bitch! Then you realize that YOU are the bitch and that you better do something more productive with yourself because you suck. And hanging out with yourself sucks.

5. Irritation. You start to get pissed off. Either at yourself for being so unentertaining, or with whomever is stuck in the house with you. Everything you/they do is riding your last nerve. The way you/they chew. The way you/they sigh. The way you/they SMELL. Come to think of it, it’s been a while since you showered. So you hop in the shower and hope it will bring you some relief. But once you’ve toweled off and changed back into your pajamas, you hate yourself again.

6. Lethargy. All this rage is making you tired, very, very tired. Can you nap at 3 p.m. if you’ve done nothing for days? Is that legal? It’s not, but you nap anyway, even though you haven’t taken a nap since college. You wake up feeling even more tired than before you napped. Time for more kettle corn. You binge on kettle corn but the void is getting bigger and bigger. Will you ever get out? Will you ever eat a vegetable again? Probably not. And the thought depresses the shit out of you.

7. Extreme Lethargy. You wander over to your window and stare out like a depressed dog. You whimper and whine and think about people who are bed ridden or who have debilitating illnesses or are without power or water. You are a self-pitying, ungrateful asshole. You think about how, when you get out of your apartment, you are going volunteer at a hospital to make up for how awful you’ve been. You lay on your living room floor and moan. You roll. You try to do a yoga stretch, but it’s too much effort. You stare at the ceiling and remember fun times in your life. The time you traveled to a foreign country. The time you had a birthday party. The time you commuted to work on the subway. Those times are over. Is it destined to be just you and the carpet forever.

8. Emotional Breakdown. You start to cry. You wipe your tears and snot on the dirty hoodie you’ve been wearing for three days. You pull the hood over your head and pull the strings. You cry. And cry. And cry. Until you realize that even though you are stranded in your neighborhood, it is now safe to leave your apartment. You walk. Your legs feel wobbly and unsure, like a baby colt. But you start to remember how it’s done. You walk to the drug store and feel comforted by the neon glow of the CVS sign. It’s open. A beacon of hope and beauty products from infomercials. You wander through the aisles like a cave woman. You consider buying a Bump It and some glow-in-the-dark hair extensions. You settle on a bottle of coconut water instead. You drink it before you leave the store. You keep walking and crying, happy to be safe and alive. Rejoicing. Texting people to say hi. You stop and take a deep breath. A drunk, homeless woman stumbles over to you and tells you how “hot” you look. You are wearing sweatpants and dirty hoodie. This was not the human contact you were hoping for. You run back to your apartment. Hopeful about tomorrow. But for now, back to sleep.