We had been locked down for two weeks when I was laid off. A week later, my youngest child and his girlfriend moved into an apartment.  

How are you doing? everyonesasks each other, on Zoom, over text, on the phone, but I get asked a bit more than most.

I'm okay, I say. 

It's the truth. I feel okay.

I'm okay, but I can't sleep. 

I'm okay, but after reading 52 books last year, I can't get through a single chapter. 

I'm okay, but the speed at which I plowed through a bottle of Cointreau is disturbing.

The day I was laid off, I spent the morning texting with colleagues, checking to see who was still there, who was lost, exchanging personal emails; we speculated about who had made the final decisions - the founder/CEO and his old guard or the new President and COO that the board had urged upon him.  I texted my husband updates - whether I'd be working through dinner or cooking it for him. 

As the morning wore on, I began to wonder if I'd been retained, and it was a bad feeling - not survivor's guilt, but dread. I need not have worried. 

I'm okay, but I ate four pieces of buttered toast today. 

I'm okay, but after being off sugar, I am eating a lot of ice cream. 

I'm okay, but I can't get around to filing my jagged nails.