I rock back and forth in my childhood room rewatching every episode of Seinfeld. I furiously latch hook a rug to keep my hands busy. I’ve already knitted seventeen hats, rolled five beeswax candles, made a papier-mache dragon and assembled a tiny ship in a bottle. I’m starting to run out of things to occupy my sexual energy — before my hands will resort to frenzied masturbation instead of frenzied arts and crafts. This is one of the few times Anya Neeze is going to strongly advise you not to seek out physical sexual contact with anyone outside your home unless you own a full hazmat suit or medieval plague doctor costume.