Not the rocket ship. Not that countdown.
I missed it.
I’m sure it was amazing and awe inspiring.
I can barely be bothered to shower anymore. It takes more than a rocket ship to blow up my skirts these days.
Not that I actually wear skirts. I exist in pajama bottoms and t-shirts these days. I haven’t worn a bra in nearly 3 months.
When we visited my mother on Mother’s day (We all sat, in the driveway, at least 15 feet apart). I didn’t bother with shoes. I wore red fuzzy slippers because I didn’t see the point of shoes.
Now, I have to find the point of shoes again. I’m going to have to wear a bra. I mean, I don’t have to. I don’t think anyone can force me to wear a bra, but since I’m going back to work in an office around people in a week, I’ll probably wear a bra.
Yes, even though Covid numbers are climbing, I have to go back to work.
I am going to do everything I can to stay safe, but I’m still terrified.
I have to be around other people and don’t know that they are doing what they need to do to stay safe.
Also, I haven’t been around other humans but Randy for a long time. I hardly leave my front porch.
Sometimes, we take a drive.
I’m not looking forward to being around people again. People already freaked me out. I have no idea how much worse that is now and am assuming it’s reached some new depths.
I’m still figuring out how to live entirely in my house.
I made plans. I bought supplies.
What I mostly do, is work, struggle to keep my house sort of clean, and look at the unfinished, mostly not even started projects.
I bought a subscription to “Catch a Killer”. You get a box of clues sent to you and then you figure out the mystery. I thought it would be fun. Something Randy and I could do together.
As it turns out, there’s a lot to it, you guys. First, it says to get a cork board and note cards and conduct an actual investigation.
Who has time for that? I mean, other than people locked into their house for 3 months.
Seriously, I meant to get started on it. Then, I’d read a few paragraphs, gauge Randy’s interest, and we’d watch Youtube videos about cheeseburgers.
We also started playing a game, where Randy would pick a year and pull up a play list. I would have to tell him the song title and artist without looking. Things got tense in the ’70s when I identified Mandy by Barry Manilow in 2 notes. Randy sort of wanted a divorce. But then I identified Anarchy In The UK by the Sex Pistols in the same amount of notes and we were all good again.
In addition to wasting money on fake crime evidence and art supplies, our diets have changed.
We eat fish sandwiches all the time. We’ve been together for 25 years and never, in a quarter of a century, have we made fish sandwiches.
Now, we can’t get enough of them. Pandemics are weird.
I would love to say that I’m hanging in there and keeping a handle on life, but really? I’m struggling. I know a lot of you probably are too.
Everything is on fire. I’m so sad.
Now, I have to figure out how to be around people again. And not breath any of their COVID breath.
Wish me luck.