Days of my Life #11

Good morning campers! It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining and I slept through the night like a normal (whatever that is) person! The dogs are still asleep as is, it appears, everyone else in my house. Birds chirp outside and I imagine a soprano singing falalala like a Disney movie. Today, ladies and gentlemen, anything is possible. Can you feel it?

Oh no. My alter egos are awake. It appears Pessimistic Polly is tapping me on my metaphorical shoulder, reminding me that though I indeed create my reality, other forces are afoot which can do that as well. Shit! That’s a big disappointment. Do I need to now read the news to see what’s going on outside the comfort of my home? What if I don’t want to? Polly’s sister, Responsibility Rita just whispered, “It’s only right. You must see what you can do to help others today.” Alas, I agree. I shall put on my Changemaker costume and contemplate what I will do to fight injustice here, or there.

Oh dear, the pants are kind of tight. Did they shrink in the wash? Nope. Must’ve been the vegan chocolate pudding I ate for last night’s dessert. Gotta watch the intake. “A superhero still must exercise.” Reminds Fit Frida.

Spoilsport! Alas they are correct, but before I do anything else, just let me stretch my tastefully styled tunic over the pants. Uurghhh. There. Now the boots and cape. Where’s my N95 mask? Okay, I’m ready for my zoom call with my fellow activists.

Yesterday I committed to making art, and so I gathered up the gazillion plastic bags which have been accumulating in our house like rabbits on steroids, plugged in the iron, andgrabbed my scissors to commence fusing the unwieldy stuff. It’s truly awful how much of the food we buy is packaged in plastic…and why not use glass or paper or compostable wrapping, I ask, fully understanding the impact of evil corporate oil lobbyists, senators and congresspeople (and the slimeballs for whom they work) and their intent to completely fill our world with the nasty stuff as they fill their pockets with cash. I ask you and anyone wishing to chime in, “where the FUCK are they planning on living?” It’s obvious, they don’t care so I’m not asking if they do.

Anyway, I took out my iron and fused the bags together, all the while grumbling and swearing at the futility of it all. “God dammed The Graduate and every other movie, commercial and ad touting the benefits of plastic in our world.” I yelled aloud, startling even my poor deaf lab, Mocha, though it was probably because she was underfoot and may have caught my clog as I was doing my pissy stomp around.

And now, with resulting Coronavirus- germaphobia which everyone has actually caught, it seems stores are all packing our curbside purchases in additional plastic. Which we must now wipe down as we place said objects in fridges and cupboards. Could we just fog it all? Hmmm. I wonder what is worse. The indiscriminate virus or indiscriminate use of plastic or Lysol infused wipes? Probably a yucky combination. Now don’t get me wrong. I have been washing my hands repeatedly, daily, often back to back, so much so that my skin is looking reptilian. And I am wearing a mask when I walk the dog or if by chance to venture elsewhere in public. I’ve been out a total of three times in four weeks for no more than thirty minutes. So I’m doing my part. Sheesh!

Sure, I am tired of being cooped up much like the rest of a good portion of our World, except maybe the Trump University grads who can neither read nor spell and whose wardrobes include MAGA hats. I know, I know I should be more gracious and accepting of those who drank the koolaid and have yet to succumb, but I’m far too challenged to do so as yet.

I woke up to bird song and am now wondering what the hell is going on in the world. Go figure.

I’ll let you know tomorrow. Tune in.

2 thoughts on “Days of my Life #11

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