However, there is a certain sanity to the volleyball named Wilson. The main character talks to Wilson, and even loses his mind when Wilson floats away during the escape from the island. Being in voluntary quarantine pretty much by myself, I totally get it now. I finally understand the significance of Wilson and the importance of having a minor character, perhaps even a foil, readily at hand.
Initially, though, this may not be the case. When I am first relegated to real life shelter-in-place, I enjoy it. I don't mind the lack of human contact and even manage to do some organizing around this still semi-organized house.
Then comes the first cyber meeting with live cameras.
After moving myself around the house, I understand that the best Zoom-worthy place in my house is the living room downstairs, but the best work space for me is in my den/office/sewing room. It isn't until the first camera-live work meeting that I notice the dress form in the sewing area is clearly visible. I don't have any place to move her, and I am seriously tired of migrating around my home just for a decent camera angle. I mean, Mr. DeMille certainly isn't looking for me, so camera-ready basically means no pajamas visible on screen.I decide the best thing to do is to clothe my dress form. I have a tunic nearby (hanging on a closet door knob). It works perfectly, except now she looks a bit like the JJill Headless Horseman. No problem. I have a beach hat that will match her tunic just fine. Before I know it, I have a lovely model standing in my cyber landscape when I turn on the computer camera. And, before long, I start chatting with her (okay, AT her).
Hmmm. She is my ... WILSON. Dear lord, I have become a castaway. It's just me and Wilson, hanging out, sewing, Zooming, and generally enjoying our voluntary quarantine. So far Wilson is a fabulous minor character. She hasn't become a foil yet -- she is still quite respectful during my meetings, she patiently listens to my complaints and my jokes, and she doesn't ever change the television channel.
Honestly, though. if Wilson leaves me (floats away, blows away, falls apart, or worse), I might just pull a Castaway and come apart at the seams. Get it? Sewing? Seams?
Whatever. I don't need outside validation for another few weeks (or months) -- Wilson thought it was funny. That's all that matters for now.
