Dear Martha: Were in our third day of self quarantine and already the Internet service provider is throttling our bandwidth for overuse. Netflix nigh impossible to watch and the children grow restless. Snacks quickly depleting. We fear we cannot go on much longer.

Dear Martha. Jedidiah warned to tend the shopping a fortnight ago but I did not heed. Ventured to Costco today and all vital provisions were sold out: meats, cheeses, toilet paper. Returned home with only a three-pack of Garnier Fructis and a 120-count package of Hydrox.

Dear Martha: Day 5 of our self-quarantine and the wifi has slowed so much it’s been three hours since we started downloading “Jojo Rabbit” with no end in sight. As god is my witness, I do not know how much longer we can hold out. We pray for succor.

Dear Martha: Day 6 of our self-imposed quarantine dawned bright and gay. Then we learned the NBA season had been canceled. The boy is crushed and spent much of the day rending his garments. Am at my wits’ end and drowning my sorrows in Hydrox.

Martha Dearest: Day 7 of our self-quarantine. We receive reports that, as much as we'd like to believe, sound as heresy. Yet with a prayer to Providence, we sip warm water every 15 minutes in the hopes it will prevent the fever. I now bid you leave to take a child to the privy.

Dearest Martha. Alas! The university closed its doors and so the son has returned home — but not as the prodigal. He remains in his chamber, refusing all entreaties to provide assistance. I fear he has acquired the habit of the hemp as a sour miasma oft emanates from within.

Dear Martha. Day 8 of this infernal self-quarantine. Finished the last of the Purell this morning, doling out one final drop to each of us. Reduced to using the hand soaps I brought home from that conference last summer at the Orlando Airport Courtyard by Marriott. Pray for us.

My dearest Martha. Arrives Day 9 of our self-quarantine and the supply of bottled water has dwindled to naught. The children were wroth when told we must needs rely on that from the tap. Oh, they cried, the humanity!

Dear Martha: The pastor’s young daughter Adelaide came calling on this ninth day of our dismal self-quarantine. Sitting outside the salon window she told us of a new, modern fashion that is all the rage. She called it ‘social distancing.’ What a strange world we live in!

Dear Martha: Continuing our self quarantine, today we watched the moving picture ‘Contagion,’ a tale of scientists, doctors and government officials working in lockstep to stop the spread of a calamitous malady. Science fiction as stirring as anything from the master H.G. Wells!

Dear Martha: Huzzah! Using my time during this self-quarantine, today I completed a trifle intended for the players who trod the boards. 'Tis the tragic tale of a woman, Elizabeth, who seeks political power while toiling at an inn that purveys meat patties. I call it, Mac Beth.

Dear Martha: Another week of self-quarantine dawns and the despair threatens to overpower like the dark waters of a flood. But at the final moment a light appears, rekindling memories of a time of hope and goodwill. Netflix, we discover, has all seven seasons of “The West Wing.”

My dearest Martha. The self quarantine continues. Bored, the children spend their days watching the Netflix rather than doing their school lessons, which are delivered by courier. But now I ... oh, I must be off. My boss demands from me a work assignment due yesterday.

Darling Martha: Day 10 of our self-quarantine and the toilet paper situation grows ever grimmer. Shop clerks are astounded as rolls sail out the door as soon as they’re put on the shelves. Oh, to hear the thump of a thick Sears catalog being delivered to our front porch!

Martha: The self-quarantine continues. Thaddeus told us he went to the inn for supper, only to be told they were not serving indoors for fear of contagion. So he took his vittles outside and enjoyed a lovely picnic with some new-found friends.

Dear Martha: As the self quarantine continues, we start to unravel. The boys contest to keep a urine stream going longest. The daughter shears all her baby dolls. And I have an accursed ditty trapped in my skull that repeats and repeats and repeats: Doo doo doo doo doo doo.

Dear Martha: With a teleconference scheduled with the regional offices this afternoon, I have spent most of this day of my self quarantine conversing with my company IT department, learning to use the remote conferencing software. ‘It’s easy,’ they said. ‘Kill me,’ I replied.

Dear Martha: The 11th day of self quarantine reveals ever more clearly the mounting stress we are under. The children especially battle endlessly, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, a truce: ‘Frozen 1,’ they agreed, truly was a better movie than ‘Frozen 2.’

Dearest Martha. Gymnasiums are closed and group exercise discouraged. Will we all become unfit and overweight? Not me! Even before entering my self quarantine I was loathe to participate in such silly calisthenics training!

My dearest Martha: Shakespeare wrote “King Lear” while quarantined in 1606 and Sir Isaac Newton developed calculus in quarantine in 1665. I have now joined mine to these great men’s names. Today, while self-quarantined, I completed the Friday New-York Times word-cross puzzle.

Martha my dear: I sighed when shops were unable to keep cleaning products on the shelves, shrugged when bottled water sold out and laughed when there was no toilet paper to be found. But the day I am unable to procure enough coffee to quench my desire is the day I go ‘Hulk.’

Dear Martha. Today the family, quarantined across the land, attempted a Zoom chat. It did not go well. Mother and father ended up yelling at one another, brother was drunk and sister’s ne'er-do-well boyfriend hit us up for loans. Today, a first: I enjoyed being self-quarantined.

Dearest Martha: Spent the weekend inside the house in self quarantine. Unable even to perambulate the neighborhood. Yet doing nothing seems curiously exhausting as I collapsed to bed at only half past seven. Is this what it’s like to be a farmer?

Dear Martha, With everyone now "sheltering in place," we have to make accommodations to keep the peace. One recently agreed upon policy: If one's mobile phone has less than a 10% charge, it is permissible to unplug someone else's with an 87% charge. (Did you hear that Thaddeus?)

Martha dear. Self-quarantine made worse by Thaddeus’ boasts about how HE is not affected by the unending shortage of toilet paper. Seems the Grand Tour of Europe he took last summer enamored him so of the gadget that upon returning home he actually purchased his own bidet!

Martha my dear: After I don’t know how long in self-quarantine the apocalypse finally arrives! This morning we learn to our dismay that we will no longer be able to work from home as Microsoft has run out of verification codes!

Dear Martha. As our self quarantine continues the reality of the outside world begins to fade. This morning I awoke in wonderment that I did not know the day of the week. Was it Thursday? Saturday? Christmas even? I realize I now know what it is like to be retired.

Martha dearest: As we continue sheltering in place, strange things oft seem to happen for which I have no explanation. Today, for example, the boys have gotten it into their heads that they desire, of all things, a pet tiger!

Dear Martha: We continue stuck at home and the bad news is that I have abandoned trying to get the boys to bathe regularly (or even occasionally). So they now smell like a barnyard. The good news is I am able to smell them and so apparently am not infected with the virus.

Dear Martha: To keep our minds occupied during this endless self-quarantine, today I pulled out the board games. Enjoyable trifles, they'd allow time to pass pleasantly. Or so I thought. Martha dearest, I am loathe to inform you that the youngest son is an inveterate cheater.

Martha dear. Being stuck at home allows me to turn to projects I could never complete due to interruptions and other ‘emergencies.’ Now I have and my yard is pristine. So, with nothing else left to do, I must needs tend the ever-growing pile of chores received from mine office.

Martha: As we have since the earliest days of the quarantine, the children and I carefully wash our hands on returning from even the shortest outing: Palms, fingers, hand backs, thumbs, all carefully scrubbed. When normalcy returns, I feel ready to seek employment as a surgeon.