|Everything's gonna be alright, I know|
Tuesday, December 01, 2020
Monday, November 23, 2020
|My mother, my hero|
|Gmail is gaslighting me|
Thursday, November 19, 2020
It must be November, because I just found myself googling "heated office chair," and yes, there is such a thing, but no, I don't want one because they're ugly. I wouldn't say no to a sheepskin throw, though. I'm clearly already spoiled by the heated seats in our new (to us) CAR. I am in love with the heated seats.* Also with the windshield wipers that actually make it so you can see through the windshield in the rain, instead of smearing the water around. A pandemic is not the optimal time to buy a car, but it had to happen. Our trusty old girl nearly made it to 250,000 miles!
We are I am calling the new one Virginia Woolf. She's a wagon, so there's room to toss a litter of puppies in the back!
I keep taking photos of COVID signage, for after. We're back to constant mask wearing, to spending as little time in the store as possible, to stocking up on flour and toilet paper and lentils, and strategically planning grocery deliveries so they don't coincide with the constant construction on our street. So many interactions are with a masked face in a window, or a masked face so far away that I can't hear what they're saying and I just smile (smize) and nod. It's going to feel weird to eventually go back to being unmasked; I expect to feel exposed.
As Isaac said back in March when they shut down the basketball courts, put caution tape across the hoops, "THIS IS THE WORST PANDEMIC EVER."
*I swear I wrote this the day before yesterday, before this article came out. I agree that heated car seats are the antidote to our grief, but unlike the author I experience nothing erotic about it. It's 100% "child in the lap of some warm, benevolent bear" for me.
Friday, November 06, 2020
I have gotten the bare minimum of work done this week, at least since Tuesday. It's been easier to accomplish physical things (printing a few t-shirts, cutting mask pieces for sewing, scrubbing a moldy line of grout in the shower, dusting the lightbulbs, running around like a maniac in the back yard with Clover, etc) than the careful arrangement of words in a document or thoughtful sentences explaining terms like "regionalism" and "cryptographer." I.e. my brain isn't working all that well.
How about you?
The other day on the beach, Clover watched a group of dogs play, maybe waiting to be invited to join, or maybe just watching. It was this funny cartoon bunch of fancy dogs, like the start of a joke: a Borzoi, two Silken Windhounds, and a Bedlington Terrier walk into a bar...
This morning Clover got skunked in her very own back yard. Now our house smells like Nag Champa with a skunky undertone. Some things in this house are very, very clean, and others are extremely dirty right now (I'm looking at you, dining room rug). I am down to the last of my "election night" snacks, a bag of chocolate covered peanut butter pretzels. My magical thinking says if I could bring myself to eat them, the major networks would declare Biden the winner. We've all got to do our part, I guess.
Wednesday, November 04, 2020
We can still win this thing. Unless...unless we don't, or unless there's an actual coup. And really, didn't we already lose in a way, by not winning decisively, by having no "mandate," by not flipping Senate seats left and right? There are parts of this that feel nauseatingly familiar, my secret expectation that we'd easily sweep the election and then that initial shock that Biden didn't win Florida, a feeling that evolved into dread as that map went red and pink.
We can still win this thing, though. But this country is a fucking mess.