From the moment I knocked my glasses off the night table as I tried and failed to start my day, my crabbiness seemed too stubborn to budge.

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My yoga pants are smeared with paint. Every bare inch of my skin is covered in flecks of the stuff. My cheeks are just pink with a dinner-hour sunburn that will fade by tomorrow night, and my belly is churning, full of ice cream I shouldn’t have eaten but wouldn’t have dared resist. On a…

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I can just see the shimmer of pirate fireworks going off across Western Avenue through my office window; there are explosions in the distance from every direction.  Our festivities are long over for the day: We gathered to eat, drink, and sweat through our clothes with family  — responsibly distanced and all, of course. I…

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It’s not yet 7 a.m., and the world is waking up beyond the sanctuary of my back deck. Birds start their morning chirping hellos at one another, cloistered and invisible among the leaves. Western Avenue hums. In spite of the drama during last week’s farmers market, I came home with an armload of tiny herbs…

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I was the only person wearing a mask this morning when I walked to the post box to send a birthday card. We got bored of this pandemic. It’s not our problem anymore; let’s grab a cocktail. During shelter in place, the city padlocked the playground in Welles Park. Every park posted bold-faced “PLAYGROUND CLOSED”…

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Life descended into misery quickly and aggressively. It’s 96 days, give or take several hours, since my self-imposed shelter in place order began — though I wouldn’t describe my existence as a lockdown or quarantine these days. Phase 3 of Chicago’s COVID-19 reopening started June 3, I think, in the midst of world-rocking protests in…

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I nearly made it out of the grocery store for under $100 (nearly, because the checkout guy forgot to ring up my chicken-apple sausage the first time around). This means one of several things: I am now a grocery-shopping sensei I actually bought $55 worth of groceries on Friday afternoon and am just now remembering…

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I have dreams that I’m yelling at people for not covering their faces when they’re out in public. In my waking hours, I’m too tired to do anything but bore holes into the backs of their unprotected heads with my raging stare. (Or, when I do yell, it’s behind rolled-up car windows.) I found out…

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I mean. So much for journaling every day, “for the historians.” LOL, it’s been 48 days since we locked the doors. Probably about 45 since my hands went raw from all the washing. A month and a half since I could take a deep, easy breath beyond the confines of my apartment. (And well over…

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