I have been away from this blog for a long time but since I am not wanting to commit pandemic suicide, I have been trying to entertain myself at home in all the usual ways one does in self-isolation. Until now, I’ve been doing a lousy job. Today I spied this ancient laptop and after I shellacked it with Lysol (because who knows where it’s been and who it’s been with) I hunted and pecked my way to this spot on the world wide web. How are you doing?
I think they should be calling this a panic-demic. I’m good at panic. I can cower in my dark basement with the best of them waiting for someone to call me and warn me that someone sinister is in my house. Usually the bad guy has a chain saw or a hockey mask, but now he might have covid and is not wearing a mask as he knows good-and-well he should be. The awful results might turn out to be the same.
I am doing my best to practice some appropriate panic during the pandemic. Here are some things I am not doing:
• Cleaning house. Really? Why should I start now? If I have a limited time, why waste it cleaning?
• Eating appropriately. Stress eating ignores the basic food groups. I can stress eat ice cubes; it doesn’t matter to my stress.
• Exercising. Refer to cleaning house.
You get the picture. I am unable to be productive. You’d think by Day 27, I could do more than look for the tv remote in the couch cushions or stare out the window wondering what day it is.
My scattershot attempts to tamp down the panic has provoked me to revisit this abandoned blog to try to capture some of the incoherent rumblings coming out of the vacant fog that once was my brain. However, I cannot seem to manage my grieving broken heart.
Stay well,
Diana