"You're gonna burn, little birdie!"

Perhaps in days prior to COVID-19, I would express concern over my 4-year-old's impaling Peeps from the Easter Bunny and roasting them over the campfire while muttering to the melting, bubbling once-bird-shaped gloop, but now? Meh.

My daughter has gone feral. She is insisting on peeing outdoors. She and my husband stared each other down for a good 30 minutes while he insisted that little girls use the potty and she insisted, as she shook in her chair, legs crossed, that little girls pee in the wild. It was a wonder to behold — quite honestly the best COV-entertainment I've seen yet.

My friend suggested I not write about the virus this week — that I find something else to talk about, that we need entertainment outside of the virus. But unlike the stand-up on Netflix, my comedic life experiences are not produced well in advance.

I will, however, do my best.

(clears throat)

What's the deal with appliances? Just when I need a drink every night (and morning and afternoon), the ice-maker in my freezer dies. Guess it's not just the elderly that are at risk.

No, no, that's awful. And still all about the virus. OK, let me try again.

What's the deal with electronics? Just when I need to sit my children in front of Netflix for 30 hours a day, the computer catches a bug and keeps shutting itself off. Just what we need, to deal with another virus.

Nope, nope.

What's the deal with moms constantly walking past their kids' online Zoom classes in the nude? No need to worry about the virus; the kids are going to die from embarrassment.

Nope. Still discussing COVID-19.

There is nothing else to talk about. The whole world has nothing else to talk about. We are all stuck at home. We are all balancing work and family and physical health and mental health and paying bills and offering prayers.

In the past month, I have been in touch with my friends in Germany, Russia, Australia, the U.K., Macedonia, Italy and China. The stories are all the same. There are no new stories. The days are all the same. And we're the lucky ones, because these days, no news is good news.

There was some fun to be had in the early days of isolation. Virtual happy hours filled up every evening. My social life, like many others', almost seemed to be on the rise as I caught up with old friends. But that, too, has died down. There is no "new" to talk about in this new normal. All roads, stories and jokes lead back to the coronavirus.

My son's teacher just sent a journal assignment: "What is the one word you would use to describe your time in isolation?" I felt my body tense up as I waited for his answer. Was it going to be "boring"? "Yelling"? "Terrible"? "Lonely"? He said, "Feral."

We have all gone a little feral, haven't we? Something primal is taking over. Emotions are flooding out of us, the gates of decorum destroyed. There are extreme winds as tornadoes rip down the center of America with waves of yelling and tears.

People are breaking local ordinances to go outside. Some are going into nature and down shut-off trails, some to commune with neighbors, some to march against politicians making rules to save lives. My best friend in New York City has been taking walks in graveyards. Other friends have broken out in hives from the stress. Bodies are rebelling.

Something feral is alight.

In our house, it is mostly the campfire. Trying to break up the monotony, we've been camping out many nights. We've been eating over a flame. The children have muddied themselves daily catching frogs. My daughter is insisting on peeing outside. My son made a slingshot. His target practice is a picture of the virus drawn in crayon.

The washing machine was the latest appliance to break down during isolation — just in time for my daughter to wet herself when she's not permitted to pee outdoors. We are all refusing this new normal.

But I was told not to talk about the coronavirus. So let me try again.

What's the deal with appliances? Just when I need a drink every night, the ice-maker dies. Whiskey with no ice? Well, ain't that neat.

Let me try again.

What did the marshmallow bird say as it roasted over the campfire? Not a peep.

Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.