What do you know? I’ve already had my cup of “why bother” this morning! I’m awake in a quiet home. (Grandson is still asleep). The dogs have been fed. Robin’s egg is safely tucked away in my cleavage. I’m almost afraid to disrupt the silence, but I have a building urge to belt out some tunes from Les Miserables. Why? Because it has the guerrilla theatre ring to an otherwise peaceful morning and it gives me a sense of power over the Orwellian pandemic-drama surrounds us all.
Am I paranoid? No? Yes? Maybe? But I am comforted, in that I believe I am not alone in this altered awareness of the state of our world, and somehow I can live with that, for now. All with the help of show tunes and my warped sense of humor and whilst I sit, sometimes stand, or dance or crouch, ready to pounce, to watch the drama play out before me. Do you? It is a strange time after all.
I confess. I cannot listen to the orange nimrod who has crowned himself king nor his toady-followers who I swear are lesser humans or else why would they stand/grovel/bow obedient to such a slug (apologies to slugs everywhere, but I could not think of anything else that makes me as nauseated). And so I do my best to avoid his nightly upchuck of lies and nasty nonsense. Besides I’ve got things to do as I hum my own or an adopted broadway tune.
What have I been doing? Why yesterday I was as busy as a bee before colony collapse (oh dear is that a premonition? I hope not!) First it was my regular meditation-then email-then shower, after which I chimed in on zoom with my sisters of progressivity- that’s not what we are called but it does have a certain musical ring to it- where we wrote messages in place of our faces which was then recorded and put on social media. Should our zoom pix go viral may it plague the Republican Party into submission or demise, you pick.
Then my daughter trimmed the frizzles atop my head (curly hair knows no boundaries), a shower, a bunch of household chores, editing the book which has resided in my computer for far too long, a teensy snooze, then a masked walk around the hood with pal Carla.
It was the walk, that though normally might’ve been peaceful, was interrupted by police cars chasing a scofflaw zooming, down the main drag upon which we were walking, along with overhead police chopper, before our very eyes. We agreed that the lack of traffic made the chase slightly entertaining and we simultaneously breathed relief when we listened for but heard no resulting crash or kaboom. We chose to continue onto side streets to avoid the possibility that the police were still in hot pursuit.
Once back home I proceeded to feed our hungry hounds, check email again, sign some online petitions, leave messages on our good for nuttin senators voicemail that we need to be able to vote by mail, then prepared dinner, which grandson, though he joined us for dinner al fresco, decided he would consume food while hyperactively dancing around the table. Relaxing, our meal was not.
Dinner passed quickly and by nine I was snoozing only to be awakened at midnight by aged Mocha who needs help getting onto the bed. Then I could not go back to sleep until after I had watched something mind numbing on pbs (I cannot even remember what it was), and checked the egg in my cleavage, which was after 2am.
Excuse me, I’ve gotta go remove the candy stash I hear my grandson is currently attempting to hide in the makeshift tent in our living room. I plan to give him some breakfast that is slightly more nutritious. Daughter is sipping coffee, chatting on the phone in the other room with a friend and unaware of the potential sugar insanity which looms elsewhere.
We are going to make “it’s not our birthday” cupcakes today as a sort of distraction cum compromise with a six year old.
And now I just received a call that mocha has been found wandering the hood. It must be time I end this piece of short attention span theatre, but I’m still gonna sing. Jusqu’a demain.
2 thoughts on “Days of my Life #12”
Here’s some great insight into how to deal with the CV. https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/saving-your-health-one-mask-time-peter-tippett-md-phd
E Eric Stacey firstname.lastname@example.org 503-666-2325