Day 16: Forgive me, Father, etc.
It’s 8:45 a.m. on Saturday, and I’m watching a video Jena sent me of a doctor at New York City’s Weill Cornell Medical Center talking about COVID-19. He is calm and measured and educated, and despite the scariness of the information he’s presenting, it’s a balm in an environment that remains mind-bogglingly post-truth.
Keep your hands clean, and you will not get this disease.
Once upon a time, I could stir when Mark got up to feed the cats in the morning, maybe peek at my phone and snooze for another few hours. These days, from the moment I pick up my phone, I’m awake. (I’m trying to turn that habit of looking at my phone off. Good luck to me.)
So I’m up.
We made popcorn with coconut oil and nutritional yeast last night while wrapping up the evening’s binge of The Sopranos. The popcorn was disgusting. I don’t know how people vegan.
But shit, The Sopranos is GREAT. I guess it took the outside world becoming unbearably bleak for me to get brave enough to watch it, and now I’m torn between savoring it and making the series last as long as possible — and making binge watching my full-time job for the next two weeks.
I don’t have anything else to say, and this isn’t meant to be an item I check off on a list to say that I did it. I’m doing okay.
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…Read More
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…Read More
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…Read More