We only see a woodland walrus again a couple of weeks later, when we four head to Amsterdam and Belgium for a week’s respite from essay writing. It’s a moment of peace—the beginning of October, clear skies illuminating the cows loitering in the field outside, sunrise gleaming through the back window of the bus.

It’s been roughly eleven years since the ‘Jonas Brothers 3D Concert Experience’ movie came out in theaters. I lived in a little town in Massachusetts at the time, and our primary movie theater was the one in the mall. One night, shortly after the movie was released, when my little sister, probably around five at the time, was in bed, my mom snuck me out of the house to go see the movie with her.

Isabel swears I’m not thinking clearly, but I keep insisting that there’s this magnificently large, green, blubbery walrus in the bushes outside of the house. We call it the Grove, the section of hedges that curtains our little house from the main house. It’s a lovely place, but crowded.

I haven’t been feeling particularly anxious lately, which I can attribute to both my being busy since starting classes and to my settling into some semblance of a routine. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been anywhere, or seen pretty much anyone besides my family and a few neighbors. While I’m very grateful that my family and I are in a position to be able to stay home and shelter in place, I’m beginning to feel lonely. Based on the general mood I’ve observed on Instagram, and a few texts I received this week, it seems that I’m not alone.

Welcome to my bedroom, where I’m sitting on my bed (even though I’m fairly certain that, ideally, I’m supposed to be working at a desk for maximum productivity) and sorting through the things I need to get done this week, with my cup of coffee on the windowsill next to me, and the giant blanket I’ve been knitting sprawled out on the bedspread.