Writing out my feelings.

Snowfall

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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Day 134

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…

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Protected: Day 129: Baking and crying.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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A funny idea of Independence.

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…

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Day 103: Joy in this normal.

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…

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Day 101: Phase 4

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…

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Day 96

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…

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Day 53, late afternoon

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…

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Day 53 (and a Monday, hooray)

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…

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Day 48

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…

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write

Hi. You've somehow happened on my blog — or I guess that's what we called it in The Before Times™.

If you read my writing in said Before Times, you'll remember it as…lighter. More of a romp.

These days, writing "for myself" is something I do to get the lead out of my heart, to process how I'm feeling, to exorcise something that won't leave my brain.

It's something I do sporadically.

If it's something that resonates with you, I'm so glad. Welcome.

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