Keep at least 141 million miles distance between you and Earth.
Binge watch Season 2 of 01010111.
Don’t touch your antenna.
Be productive during this down time and declutter your code.
Try to maintain some of your old routine by immediately putting on your work wheels when you wake up.
Help your rover neighbors by offering to pick up soil samples for them.
In a pinch, a good old-fashioned box made from titanium and carbon fibers can keep the kids entertained for Sols on end.
Give your rover children cool pandemic nicknames, such as Awesome Rover 1 and Other Rover That Looks Like a Dishwasher.
Cheer yourself up by changing up the words to Happy Birthday as you wash your circuit boards: “Happy Isolation for me. Happy Isolation for me. Practice Social Distancing, Dear Isolated Rover, Happy Isolation for me.”
It’s important to carve out some relaxation time, so take thirty minutes every day to scream like no one can hear you (because they can’t).
If you’re having trouble getting tested for the virus, find a celebrity rover and ask if you can borrow one of their 25 extras.
When you see two or more Gen-Z rovers partying together, yell at them, “Get your metallic asses back to your home crater!”
Argue with an elderly rover who keeps saying this is all a big overreac…oh, he’s dead now.
When the president says that it’s just a flu, take your cute little shovel and smash your Wall-E-looking head until the transmissions stop.
When NASA sends extra supplies, send them back because that would be socialism.
Reread the Martian hieroglyphs that you haven’t told NASA about yet. It’s a love story about a society that caught a nasty virus. Very YA dystopian, TBH.
Scoop up all the virus and get your connections at NASA to help you blast it into the sun. Then blast yourself into the sun too because it’s better than being called home to Florida one day.
Virtually gather some well-known Rovers to cover an iconic song in a well-meaning but tone-deaf attempt to bring hope to the masses.
Do all the Martian drugs. Like, all of them.